Enter XFactor
by KnoKnameKnown
Summary: There's a new team of Mutants in Bayville- but what's their agenda, and who or what is Layla Miller?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Own some minor characters, but all the stuff you recognise is NOT mine and makes me NO money, all credit goes to the owners.**

**This story introduces characters from Peter David's excellent X-Factor series, but I hope to make them fit in with the usual Evo-verse. In order to get them all in it means that the original (totally awesome) characters may take a back seat, but they will be there so please bear with me. Also please review, even to insult me, at least I'll know someone is reading! On which note...**

**CHAPTER I: The Lion's Den**

The bar's run-down nature was obvious even from the outside. The windows were dusty and cobwebbed; one of them even had a board to replace the glass that had once stood there and was now reduced to a few pathetic fragments lining the stained metal. An incongruous note was struck amidst the seedy décor by the door, which was very big, very thick and suspiciously well maintained given the state of its surroundings. Big as it was, the bouncer standing outside was even bigger, his shaven head scraping the top of the doorway and his shoulders too broad for him to enter without turning sideways. Every inch of him seemed to bulge with muscle; he seemed too big to be real, and in one sense he was. The bouncer was a mutant, a low-level one with powers obvious enough to ostracise him from polite society, but fortunately not so disfiguring they did not have their uses.

"This is the place, apparently." The voice was not addressed to the bouncer, in fact it was coming from a couple of hundred yards down the street. They had been spoken by an auburn-haired young man in a long coat to a similarly dressed girl. Not only did the outfits match, they were both wearing nearly identical expressions of scepticism. They strolled up to the bouncer and the girl, a tall, slender redhead, ignored him casually, as though hulking mutant thugs were an everyday occurrence.

"Is it really? Well, I guess we'll find out," she said, making as if to walk right past the massive bouncer. A hand the size of a plate placed itself in her chest, swiftly correcting her assumption. The bouncer glowered down at the impudent newcomers.

"No-one gets in without express permission from the boss," he growled. He didn't trust these two at all. His employer associated with some very mysterious crowds and worked in murky waters- as the employment of the bouncer himself implied- but these two still seemed kind of strange. Particularly the man- he was tall but lean, and his unshaven face and lank hair did not exactly suggest wealth and success.

"We do," the bouncer was informed casually. He did not believe the lack of respect he was being shown, and if he had been more intelligent and observant he may have been suspicious, if not outright concerned, but the lack of fear shown by two youngsters he could seemingly snap in half one-handed. Sadly for the bouncer, the mass of muscle appeared to extend to the space between his ears, as he immediately struck a combative pose and squared up to the two.

"Look, just step aside, big guy," the brown-haired boy suggested hopefully. "We really don't want anyone getting hurt here."

"The only one's getting hurt here are gonna be YOU!" the big man grunted and swung a meaty fist with a speed that was surprising and rather scary in such a bulky individual. Despite his speed, it was not quick enough to get past the hand that caught the fist and halted it with ease.

"Seriously, that's your best shot at witty banter?" a deep voice asked. The bouncer tugged ineffectually at the trapped hand but as his eyes traced the path from the hand and along the arm he became aware that he was slightly out of his depth. The bespectacled behemoth that had intervened was a head taller than even him, and at least twice as broad, almost grotesque in his breadth and muscle mass.

"Don't hurt him, Guido," the auburn-haired man instructed. The huge man tried to look pleading but that was a hard effect to pull off when seven feet tall and weighing in at four hundred pounds.

"What, at all? Not even a little bit?" he implored. "Can't I just rough him up a bit, he did threaten you guys."

Even as he was speaking his hand had tightened its grip. The bouncer paled and sweat sprang up on his brow and cranium as he felt the bones of his hands start to creak. He had thought his day had reached its lowest ebb, but was swiftly proved wrong when a piteous glance at the man calling the shots saw no sign of regret; in fact, the man was smiling. The bouncer summoned up all his strength, knowing he had one blow to launch his escape attempt. The punch was like a thunderbolt, it would have toppled a building or uprooted an ancient oak tree, but as it hit home directly on his captor's jaw the only side effect appeared to be a slight ripple that passed across his face. The man did let go of the fist in his grasp but as the bouncer staggered free he had just enough time to realise he was being lined up before the counterattack smashed into his chest. Several ribs snapped and as he slammed into a wall and slumped unconscious, he could feel blood trickling from his nose and the corner of his mouth.

"I thought I asked you to play nice?" the brown-haired man asked. The massive mutant shrugged, or at least appeared to; certainly the slabs of muscle on his shoulders flexed apologetically.

"Sorry, Jimbo. That was just a love-tap, not my fault the man's got a glass jaw. Besides, these scumbags deserve it," he excused himself.

"He is-" the man addressed as James glanced at the crumpled body and corrected himself quickly- "_Was _nothing to do with the main operation, Guido. Just hired muscle."

"Well, I just hope they didn't hire that clown for too much money. I've seen tougher puppies," said the one called Guido. "And why did he have to take a swing at me? I was only joking about hurting him."

"Tell me about it," said the red-haired girl; now she seemed to have relaxed somewhat there was a slight Irish accent audible in her voice. "All these people not finding it humorous that their limbs are in serious peril... who'd have thought it?"

"Much as I'm enjoying your little repartee, I should probably remind you we are here with a mission to accomplish," James interrupted them sharply.

"Mission?" Guido repeated sarcastically. "Spies and soldiers get missions, _cool _people get missions… we get to do the horrible stuff no-one else will touch."

"And that is exactly what we're here to do today, so will you stop moaning and focus?" barked James. Guido straightened and put on his best studious expression, and while the Irish girl was too good-natured to ever appear truly vigilant she did at least wipe the smile off her face.

"Monet, you in position?" James asked, pressing a button on an earpiece. With his other hand he pointed warningly at Guido. "Don't even _think_ it."

"Think what?" Guido asked innocently, but inwardly remained compiling a list of innuendo and double entendres he could have applied to his leader's last question. The reply was swift and confident.

"Mais oui, of course I am," was the reply. It was so confident and assured that the French accent practically applied itself.

"Right, wait for my signal before you make a move. Hopefully Teresa and me can handle this without needing backup, but we need you ready in an instant."

"Seriously James, lighten up will you? We're P.I.s as in 'private investigators', not public instigators," Guido said soothingly. James and Teresa had been about to walk in but both paused and looked curiously at the grossly enlarged mutant strongman.

"How long have you been trying to get that one into a conversation?" Teresa queried curiously. Guido blushed and scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"A while," he admitted. "But you've got to admit it's pretty good."

"An all-time classic, now get your head together will you?" James snapped. "You wait out here in case Mr Li doesn't feel too chatty. Monet, you stay in position and check our new friend doesn't try and call in any reinforcements. Everyone clear?"

"Crystal," Guido said, and the others chimed in agreements. While the others appeared to be relaxed and calm enough to trade one-liners about the situation they were in, James was sure that it was all a façade to disguise their nerves. God knew he was sweating. Guido's 'P.I.' line may have been a bit lame but it certainly had a degree of veracity. James and his colleagues were investigators and detectives, not soldiers. Martin Li was the biggest fish they'd ever been charged with hooking, and they had never expected being asked to reel him in as well. He braced himself and turned to Teresa.

"Come on then. We'd better get this over with."

They walked inside and were immediately confronted by another thug in a cheap suit. Unlike the big lug Guido had handled so adroitly outside, this one was small and lean to the point of scrawny, but that was no reason to underestimate him; if anything, that made him more dangerous as there was no way Li would entrust his security to a human toothpick- there had to be more to this guy than first apparent.

"Dammit, Wilson, I told you to… what the hell?" The scrawny guy seemed surprised to see them; apparently he had not been aware of his colleague's fate. He recovered quickly though and raised a claw-like hand. Immediately both his opponents toppled with yells of pain, feeling their muscles spasm and contract against their will. James choked and gagged as the muscles of his throat tightened and restricted his breathing but it seemed that sort of precision required too much attention and control to be applied to more than one person at a time. Unfortunately for claw-hand, he had chosen the wrong person to focus on. Despite agonising cramps and strain, Teresa summoned all her willpower and managed to open her mouth without dislocating her jaw. She howled and a shockwave pulsed from her mouth to where claw-hand was standing. The air shimmered and quivered around him, hurling him to the floor and in his attempts to push himself upright he released his control over his two opponents. He instinctively lashed out with his powers and Teresa gasped in agony as her knee attempted to reverse itself, but this time it was James who escaped attention and James who struck the counterattack. Unlike his downed companion, James forwent mutant powers in favour of a swift punch that knocked the air from his enemy's lungs with a grunt. James sliced the edge of one hand against claw-hand's neck, and the man went down in a heap.

"You alright, Terry?" James asked his companion, who was upright but wincing as she tried putting weight on her injured knee. The Irish girl nodded slowly.

"Nothing wrong I can't work off," she said. She glanced at her leader curiously. "Where did you suddenly learn that Kung-fu stuff?"

"Don't know, must've picked it up somewhere I guess," James said vaguely. In all honesty he could not be sure why he had used the chop to the neck to down his target, even less how he had managed to pull it off successfully. Not that it mattered, the point was that it had worked and now they had more pressing things to attend to. Suddenly the French girl's voice came from the ear-pieces both mutants were wearing.

"We heard fighting, are you both okay?"

"Why, Monet, you almost sounded like you care," James said dryly.

"Don't be ridiculous," the reply was magnificently dismissive. "If you screw up, none of us get paid. I'm not passing up money because you two can't handle one little guard."

"Don't worry, we're fine… and so's your pay-check," James assured her. He headed further down the corridor. Whoever had installed the door at the end had not even attempted to make it look inconspicuous. Reinforcing bars and heavy bolts were the order of the day, and it looked like it would take a lot of breaking down. Teresa ran her hands over it with an air of professionalism; breaking things down was something of a forte, after all.

"I can definitely bring it down, but it's set in the wall. This thing comes down, they do too- we're not getting though this one unnoticed," she summed up her evaluation. "We may as well call Guido in- he can bust this thing easily and let's face it we're not exactly guests of honour anyway."

James looked at it pensively, seemingly weighing up his options. Teresa was right to say that they would not get in unnoticed, and Guido would be an asset in facing a hostile reaction, but he had one last idea to try before resorting to force. "Unless… maybe someone will let us in if I ask nicely."

"Ask nice-? Oh, no way James, remember what happened last time you tried that? You ended up talking gangster slang for a week," Teresa tried to convince her friend against the course of action she knew was coming. She was pretty sure it was hopeless. James was by nature as stubborn a man as anyone Teresa had ever met, quite apart from which he was still stinging from being wiped out by claw-hand so easily. James knocked on the metal door lightly then put a hand to the slot that served as a spy hole for those inside.

"Who're you?" The guard grunted. Suddenly a look of confusion passed across his face, then one of concentration. The next time he spoke, it was James's voice coming out of his mouth. "Right, the door's open, don't think anyone noticed." The door was indeed eased open quietly and Teresa swept in, passing the guard crossing the other way, now with a vacant, dreamy expression on his face. Teresa had just enough time to see it change to one of bemusement and consternation before the door was shut behind the, the yells and pounding of the door by the guard inaudible over the thump-thump of the bass music playing in the room. It was so loud that the new arrivals managed to get in completely unnoticed, and in fact James spent a few seconds wondering whether they could indeed have taken the door out without raising an alarm. Good old fashioned instinct had kept them in a shadowy corner to evaluate their new situation, and both of them applied their skills to the task.

Teresa was more focussed on their new companions than their surroundings. She could see that the gathering was decidedly eclectic, people from all different races, religions and backgrounds seemed gathered quite happily. The only things that seemed to unite them were the fact that some were visibly mutants, and others almost certainly so, not to mention that great equaliser and uniter of men- money, or as in this case, the lack thereof. None of them seemed particularly affluent and that was probably how Li had managed to reel them in, the promise of wealth would far outweigh the illegality of obtaining said money in anyone desperate enough. Some of them she recognised, even if the names still eluded her, as she had investigated and even arrested some of them in the course of other investigations. On their own, none of them appeared particularly powerful, but en masse it would take far more than two young private eyes to resist their massed power.

James on the other hand was taking a more analytical approach, examining their surroundings as opposed to its occupants. The place appeared at first glance to be a typical night-club type of set-up: massive speakers on the walls, no main lights, only those thrown up by the equipment on the stage at the far end. There was even a small bar at one side, manned by a burly, shaven-headed mutant with four arms. James ran an experienced eye over the walls and saw an impressive number of cameras, most of which he knew to be fake. Like any professional on either side of the law, he knew that the ostentatious, swivelling lenses with their flashing red LEDs were mainly there to distract from the genuine article, which were smaller, subtler and generally rather more accurate. Something didn't quite sit right about the whole situation though. Martin Li was not unusual in living a double life in his criminal dealings- the concerned, humanitarian philanthropist to the world, the Machievellian, unscrupulous crime-lord when no-one else was looking- but like many he affected many characteristics in both guises, normally playing the cultured, savvy man of style and class, even when his underlings were torturing some poor victim. This ghetto-style underground club was not like him at all, completely contrasting with his usual tastes. To James, that could mean one of two things: one, their information on Li was inaccurate, or at least incomplete; two, he wasn't even here tonight and his current lieutenant was in charge of the play-list instead. Neither scenario promised well for their mission.

"Table in the far right corner," he muttered to Teresa, pinpointing the location he knew Li or his highest ranking associate of the day must be lurking. Although he could not see anyone there, the way the most powerful and wealthy-looking mutants had congregated there made it unlikely he would be anywhere else.

"Got it," Teresa muttered back. "How do you want to play this one?"

"Keep it calm for now, no point starting a fight if we don't need to," James replied. The two mutants did their best to swagger through the crowds, trying to fit in as well as they could. Fortunately for them, ragged, long coats that had seen many better days was a hot fashion choice amongst disenchanted mutant outlaws, and no-one gave them a second glance. James was rather surprised to find that it was indeed Li who was reclining in a couch in the selected corner, one hand illustrating a point he was making and the other wrapped around a Martini. Standing at each shoulder were two mutants who were clearly in favour at the time. One was a tall, muscular-looking man with a hood casting a shadow over his face, while the woman at the other side dressed as though she had added 'courtesan' to her other roles of assistant and bodyguard. She was tall and generously-figured, her skin so pale it was almost paper-white except for a birthmark that was the same midnight black as her hair. Both of them were watchful and alert, as opposed to the fawning hangers-on that were toadying up to Li, trying to win favour.

"I'm pretty sure I can take the girl," Teresa whispered into James's ear.

"Let's hope it doesn't get that far," James muttered back. He was not totally surprised that Teresa's habitual feminist leanings had managed to derail her line of thought, even in these circumstances; no doubt she would be taking the skimpy clothing of the female as a personal insult and a set-back against female empowerment generally. On the other hand, James himself was allowing a faint surge of optimism to pass through his cynical thoughts. With the exception of the bodyguards, none of the other mutants looked like they'd be worth their weight in matchsticks if it came to a proper fight. They joined the assembled crowd of lackeys and hoped they fitted in. None of them gave the two a second glance; nor did Martin Li, for that matter… he only needed one.

"Ah, our new guests… what brings you to this fine establishment? And without invitation, I note." His voice was perfectly calm, almost worryingly so, and he did not show any sign of attacking or trying to escape. On the other hand, the hooded man had rolled up his sleeves to reveal thick elbow-length leather gloves, and the pale woman had pulled out a gun from the back of her tight trousers. The other mutants all turned to glare at the intruders, and there was a bizarre array of sounds as several of them powered up in various ways. James was impressed at how well he faked calm as he replied.

"We're investigating the disappearance of Layla Miller," he said coolly. Martin Li raised one sleek eyebrow curiously, then there was a flash of light and where he had once stood there was now his twin, only with colours reversed as though in a camera film before procession.

"Not for long," Mr Negative said, smiling coldly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything, won't make anything. All rights are the original owners. **

**Also thanks for the review, keep it up people!**

**CHAPTER II: The Body-snatchers**

_A Few Months Previously…_

"This is actually kind of cool," commented Guido Carosella. Many people never saw past the distorted chest and biceps the size of car tyres to see the sharp sense of humour Guido always favoured. Julio Richter on the other hand had spent more than enough time around his big friend to know that that kind of line was almost certainly a set-up. The saturnine Mexican smirked and refused to reply, suspecting that Guido had been angling for a good cue. Guido noticed the smirk and sighed quietly. Of course, when you have a chest nearly four feet across even a quiet sigh is going to register on the Fujita scale, and Julio had to show quick reflexes to catch his discarded jacket as it drifted off. This time it was Guido bearing the victorious grin, which even Julio's most withering glare could not dent.

"What? I mean it, this really is quite cool," the mutant man repeated. "I mean normally we end up tracking down lost kitties or collaring some little snot who likes urban art. I mean, I can lift a car with my pinkie finger! Why waste that on some cat that got stuck on a roof?"

"Not the first time you've mentioned this idea," Julio commented dryly.

"Not even the sixty-first," a female voice squawked from the communicator lying on the ground at his feet. Guido glowered at his friend and at the communication device, for all the good that would achieve. The voice on the communicator chuckled, obviously aware of the likely reaction to her words. "It's true."

"Yeah… well…" Guido seemed derailed by the mockery of his friends. "You just keep your eyes open Terry, 'cause this isn't like any of that. Cortex Detective Agency has just hit the big time…. We're going after senators now."

"He was a candidate, once, a long time ago, and he was rejected, the guy's a has-been, a never-will-be," Julio contradicted him. "We're not even getting paid that much to investigate the guy. We couldn't hit the big time with a laser-sighted hammer."

"You guys are no fun, you know that right?" Guido complained. "This is proper Raymond Chandler stuff, mysterious disappearances, a massive threat, we've even got a proper femur fatally, we just need a bit of saxophone on the backing track…"

"Femur fatally?" Julio repeated, confused.

"Femme fatale," Teresa filled him in over the comms device. "By which I assume he means St. Croix."

Neither of the men were known for their emotional acuity or perceptiveness but both picked up on the distinct bitter undertone to the Irish girl's voice. They exchanged nervous glances, glad that Teresa would not pick up on the gesture through the device. Saying that there was something of a rivalry between the girls was like saying a Blue Whale is big. It was perfectly accurate as far as it went but did nothing to express the massive scale of the thing. The choice to make Monet their contact rather than Teresa had not been the decision of either of the men- but it was them who would have to deal with the fallout.

"Talk of the devil," Teresa added suddenly from her aerial viewpoint, prompting both the guys to pick up their binoculars. A limousine, albeit one that had clearly seen better days, had pulled up outside the restaurant they were watching. A door had opened and a tall, curvaceous figure with dark skin and ebony hair stepped out. This was Monet St. Croix, their team-mate and the member assigned to inveigling her way into the business of their target. The door on the other side of the limo opened as well as the man in question stepped out.

"You watching, Julio?" Guido asked.

"Am I!" agreed Julio, grinning to himself. The man had said something to Monet, and in twisting to face him, she had pulled the white dress she was wearing up and tighter to her body. Julio's grin widened and one eyebrow lifted as he panned up and down the body of his team-mate.

"Okay, try that again: are you watching _Liebewitz_, Julio?" Guido prompted, although not before spending more time than maybe strictly necessary examining what exactly had distracted his friend.

"Wha-? I mean, yeah… of course I am."

All three detectives watched as their team mate sauntered around to where their target was waiting. They focussed as closely as they could, trying to see whether the plan was going as intended. Teresa may not like it very much, but in this case at least Monet was by far the better choice of mole. While neither of the male mutants would be drawn into discussing which team-mate edged the advantage in terms of looks (neither of them relished the thought of facing the angry loser), Monet came from wealthy background and had even been in business herself very briefly before her mutant nature had been revealed and her stock plummeted. She would be much more believable in the persona of a bitter heiress seeking revenge and using Joseph Liebewitz to get it. The youthful investigators watched as the pair walked up the steps towards the restaurant. Monet offered her arm to Liebewitz, but although the older man's arm snaked out in turn, it bypassed the proffered limb and instead wrapped itself around Monet's waist, lower than was strictly polite.

"Ha!" It seemed Teresa could not quite hide her delight at her rival's discomfort. The humiliation would be made greater by Monet's immense pride and by the knowledge that she was totally barred from snapping the offending arm like a matchstick, as she was more than capable of doing.

"Easy, Terry. We've got to focus on this mission, we need the money," said a new voice from the communicator device. They all recognised the voice immediately, but that almost made things more confusing. If the newcomer knew they were watching and communicating, that meant that he in turn must be somewhere nearby.

"James? Where the hell-?" Teresa began. Clearly her higher viewpoint was not giving her any better perspective on the situation. Guido was sweeping the streets wildly with his binoculars trying to locate their leader, but Julio was not moving except for the slightest twitch at the corner of his jaw as he tried not to laugh.

"You son of a…. how'd you pull that one off?" he asked. Guido saw where his team-mate was looking and aligned his viewpoint accordingly. Unlike his team-mate he was unable to hold back his laughter, but did at least manage to keep it down to a low chuckle.

"What? Where? Where is he? You guys had better-" Teresa was getting more and more confused, and when Teresa got confused, she got angry. And when Teresa got angry, _everyone _knew about it. Deciding he was too attached to his arms to lose them on returning to base, Julio filled his team-mate in.

"He's only standing right in the doorway," he said disbelievingly. Sure enough, standing stiffly in the doorway to the restaurant was their team leader, dressed in the appropriate waiter's uniform and seemingly right at home. He smiled politely to the pair approaching him, and to her credit Monet managed to hide her shock behind a veneer of snooty indifference. As mole and target walked inside, James ducked back outside and quickly made contact with the rest of the team.

"Right, now we know that these two are in position, we can send someone to investigate Liebewitz's place," he informed them.

"But that will leave us short one man when we make the sting," Julio pointed out. Once Monet had got all she wanted from the man she was to spike his meal and then her colleagues would 'obtain' his slumbering body en route home. Of course a man such as he would have security of a kind that made regular bodyguards look like boy scouts, hence the need to pull the whole team into the task.

"Not now I've managed to get into this place," James contradicted him. "When Mr Liebewitz has his unfortunate turn, we now have control as to what happens to him rather than leaving it to the staff here. Besides, we're only after confirmation of what we already know, we're not looking for brand new leads, and it shouldn't take all that long."

"Okay, but how do we get there? We can't take the van; we'd need that here in case Guido screws up again-"

"Hey!"

"-Or anything else goes wrong," Julio completed the sentence. He needn't have bothered, James was one step ahead.

"Have a little faith Julio. Besides, you won't need the truck."

"So what are- hey, what do you mean _I _won't need the truck?"

Suddenly there was a wrenching sensation as slim arms wrapped themselves around his chest and he was yanked into the air. Julio had not expected to be the one put on forensic and scenery work, his forte was getting doors open for others and using his powers to protect the team-mates who actually did the detecting.

"Guido's a bit conspicuous, Monet's a little busy, and I've got my hands full coordinating this whole thing. Sorry buddy, you drew the short straw. As for the transportation- who needs a truck when you can fly Siryn-Air?"

Julio actually had a very pithy reply prepared but was unable to use it whilst still simultaneously making sure matter remained in its natural order, more specifically that his food remained in his stomach rather than making a spontaneous dash for freedom up his throat as it was now threatening to do. Teresa, aka Siryn (and now by extension he himself) was kept airborne only by the power of her lungs, somehow she could modulate her voice into sonar waves for a variety of effects including flight. Human (and even most mutant) ears were not built to pick up on the frequency that these voice-waves emanated at, sparing him from the very worst effects of what he had been assured would be a deafening noise. On the down side, Julio's own powers not only related to the ground but in some symbiotic way relied on it, when both feet left the earth, even in a car or a motorbike, it could make him feel physically ill; this was a step beyond even that. He just guessed he must have done something to annoy James. Well, even more than usual, anyway. Julio even tried closing his eyes, more out of hope and expectation, and was not surprised to find that the churning in his guts reduced only fractionally.

"Right, we made it, you can let go now," he was informed several aeon-spanning minutes later. He felt feet touch ground and a second later the familiar, comforting sensation flooded through him. They were on the balcony of Liebewitz's hotel room, facing the big glass door with its electric lock. Teresa was examining the lock carefully, trying to remember the code to get it.

"4789," Julio said without even looking. He tried not to let his expression veer from mysteriously knowledgeable to insufferably smug and did a pretty good job, but he would never have guessed that from Teresa's reaction, whirling on him with hands on hips and red hair flaring dramatically in the night breeze.

"And how would you know that?" she demanded.

"It came up in a briefing, Monet got it out of Liebewitz somehow," he said.

"Well, excuse me if I don't spend my time obsessing over that stuck-up, haughty -" Teresa began, but Julio walked past her and put in the code suggested. It was completely correct; the red light flashed green and the door slid open smoothly.

"Got to hand it to her though, she was right about that anyway," he said, sidling inside and beginning to search the room. "Besides, I'm not _obsessing_, I just pay attention to her is all."

"What colour shirt was she wearing last Tuesday?" Siryn asked, apparently offhand and while conducting a search of her own.

"Red with white sleeves," Julio said instantly, then slammed his mouth shut and blushed darkly. "But that doesn't prove anything except that I have a good memory," he added quickly. Their search had yet to turn anything up but both of them were reluctant to start overturning pillows and pillaging drawers in search of hidden clues. They lacked the warrants that would make this legal and were in fact extremely unlikely to ever obtain them, and trying to cover their tracks would take time they may not have. Luckily Julio chanced across a laptop shoved underneath the bed and pulled it out.

"Gotcha, you slimy bastard," he said triumphantly, beginning to pat down the myriad pockets of his clothing. He pulled out what seemed to be an USB device the length of a pencil but about three times as thick and covered in wires and small lights. He put it into the laptop for a few seconds, and then pulled it back out when it began to bleep and shoved it back into a pocket.

"What's that?" Teresa asked curiously. She was generally even less involved with the more cloak-and-dagger, breaking and entering side of their work than Julio as her powers were not suited for stealth at all, and she had not seen a device like that before.

"Memory relayer, got it off of Tinkerer when we caught that guy trying to steal his designs. Basically, whatever info was on that computer… is now in my pocket," Julio said smugly. "Pretty handy really. Got anything else?"

"No, I guess we'll have to hope that's enough," Teresa said. "We can't really get anything else done without giving ourselves away, and we might be needed back at the main event."

"Probably not even going to need this damn thing anyway," Julio pointed out mournfully. "Some of what Monet's got on this creep will put him down for a while."

"Good," Teresa said darkly. She did not much like her team-mate, and knew full well the feeling was certainly mutual, but Liebewitz had been up to business so vile they would stomach each other's company if it meant bringing him down for good. He had been exploiting mutants whose obvious condition prevented them from getting work elsewhere, and in their desperation turned to him. He would give them work alright, but in terrible conditions, unhealthy hours and for pittance wages. Any girls he ensnared occasionally suffered even worse, as he would 'encourage' them to express their gratitude physically. They suspected he was just one figure in a larger group, but if they could break him they may be able to find out more about his colleagues. Julio and Teresa made their way back out onto the balcony and Teresa once again hitched her arms underneath Julio's own and around his chest.

"Ready?" she asked him.

"As I'll ever be," he muttered darkly. Once again there was the wrenching, lifting sensation, once again he felt his connection to the ground and once again every spare fibre of his will was focussed on keeping his food inside his body. Sometimes, he _really _hated this job…

Teresa placed Julio down on the ground and instead of taking back to the air she stood with her two team-mates as they watched the entrance to the restaurant. Obviously neither of their colleagues on the inside would be able to contact them without breaking cover but on the other hand, perhaps there would be some small sign that their assistance would be needed.

"Anything?" Teresa asked quickly.

"No," Guido replied gloomily. "Nothing doing this end... What about you guys?"

"Back-ups of his computer drive, but we haven't had time to go through it. Hopefully Monet has done her bit well enough that we won't have to," Teresa replied. Julio was suddenly looking concerned, at least by his standards; his eyes were fixed on a point some distance down the street.

"Two o'clock, one-fifty yards," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Using the bearings, his team-mates quickly found out what was bothering him so much. The limousine that had deposited Liebewitz earlier had reappeared, but the driver had changed from a brunette woman in her thirties to a dark haired man a dozen years younger with eyes an unusual shade of grass-leaf green.

"Damn, that's Keller isn't it?" Teresa asked with the air of someone who already knew and dreaded the answer. Julian 'The Hellion' Keller was a telekinetic with immense power, few scruples and a rather vindictive sense of humour. He had never confronted the investigators on his own behalf but had shown up as hired muscle on behalf of several would be gangsters they had tangled with.

"Not him alone, he's brought Bevatron with him as well," Julio broke the bad news having recognised the figure sitting in the back seat of the limo through the lowered window. Bevatron was another thug-for-hire, with the power to fire some kind of bio-electricity from his hands.

"Liebewitz must have guessed something's up," Guido surmised out loud.

"Or he was going to double-cross Monet anyway," Julio counter hypothesised. "I don't think the party's really going to kick off until Monet and Liebewitz leave, a dramatic scene in there will be the last thing he wants. I'm going to see if James knows the situation."

He tried contacting the team-leader and was relieved to get an answer right away. Having filled James in on the new situation, he was in turn instructed in the next step, then turned to his team-mates to fill them in on the latest turn of events.

"Monet's managed to get the stuff into Liebewitz's drink but if he was thinking far enough ahead to plan something like this then it's a good chance he has been avoiding drinking completely and will want a clear head. That means we're probably dealing with a fully awake and aware Liebewitz on top of these goons."

"This just keeps getting better and better," Guido sighed. "I assume there's a plan B that does not involve lots of violence, a very fast get away and some rather awkward explanations tomorrow?"

"Me and Monet will handle Liebewitz, she can use her telepathy on him. You three make sure dumb and dumber out there don't try a rescue attempt," Danny instructed him.

"A simple 'no' would have been fine," Guido quipped wryly. "Oh well, I guess the exercise will do me good."

Suddenly the limo accelerated and swerved towards them. It appeared Liebewitz had either realised he was being set up or the goons in the car recognised the mutant investigators and acted on their own initiative to try and take them out. Teresa swooped into the air and Julio leapt to one side, but Guido's bulk did not lend itself to speed and lightning reflexes and the limo smashed right into him. Fortunately, what his size did lend itself to was resilience and endurance, even without his powers, and while the limo ended up with a crumpled bonnet and a mangled engine, Guido himself would be unlucky to suffer anything worse than mild bruising. He grabbed the twisted ruins of the car and lifted it into the air but Hellion used his powers to fly out of a window, and another door was blasted off by Bevatron who landed gracefully and rose to a wary pose, ready to fight.

"I might have known you losers would show up," Hellion commented. He gestured and the engine and blasted door of the limo rose into the air. With another gesture he flung the engine at Julio and the door towards Guido, but both of them managed to dodge the projectiles. There was a sudden loud wail and the air rippled as some kind of wave smashed into Hellion's side. His telekinetic shield protected him from serious physical injury but the sheer force of the attack blew him out of the air and sent him smashing into a wall. Teresa swooped down to resume the attack, unaware of Bevatron lining up an attack on her back.

"You really should learn to watch your back," the electric mutant sneered.

"Pot, kettle, black," said a voice behind him. He spun in shock to see Julio with arms extended before him and a grim expression on his face.

"Wha-?" The sentence remained unfinished as the earth lurched and bucked beneath him and threw him off his feet. As he scrambled upright, a huge foot planted itself on his chest and pinned him to the ground as a massive figure loomed over him.

"Oh, no you don't," Guido informed.

"No, I really think I do," Bevatron countered. He blasted at Guido from point blank range and sent him reeling backwards. Bevatron did not let up on the assault and kept unleashing blast after blast at the big man, forcing him backwards step by step. Julio was unable to help, being too busy avoiding the attacks of Hellion.

"Dammit, stay still you little…" the Californian psychic grated angrily.

"Let me think abou- no," Julio shot back, ducking a piece of wreckage that would have caught him in the face.

"That wasn't a question." Hellion concentrated and Julio felt himself rising into the air, encased in a green aura. He felt the old nausea again, and in addition a deep fear. Not only was he disconnected from the source of his power, without purchase he could not dodge the shards of glass Hellion was aiming at him, and would slice ribbons out of his flesh if they hit home.

"Question _this_," an Irish voice snapped and another of Teresa's attacks hurled Julio from his feet. With all his concentration divided between Julio and the razor projectiles aimed at the Mexican mutant, Hellion had been forced to drop his shield, and the new attack hit him without protection. He smashed into a wall with punishing force and slid to the bottom with blood pouring from his nose and the corners of his mouth. Julio yelped as he was dropped without warning but managed to land on all fours, avoiding severe damage.

"Help Guido," he panted to Teresa as he tired to get his breath back and stop his legs shaking. The Irish girl flew towards Guido who had been forced back against a wall. His force-absorbing powers were optimised to kinetic or physical attacks and were not protecting him much from the electricity of Bevatron, who was steadily pumping more and more energy into his attack. The French thug sensed Teresa coming behind him, spun around and lashed out with one hand. The momentum of the manoeuvre caused the electricity pouring from his hand to form something like a whip that wrapped around one of Siryn's wrists as she sped forward. Her momentum ceased and she convulsed in midair, starting to drop from the sky. Bevatron's distraction allowed Guido to hurl himself away from the wall and towards the plummeting Teresa, catching her as she neared the ground.

"Two for the price of one," Bevatron consoled himself as he aimed towards the pair, but the ground beneath his feet suddenly heaved again and his attack missed. As he steadied himself to try again, a dark figure blurred in the periphery of his vision. Her spun to face it only to meet Julio's fist coming the other way. What Julio lacked in raw muscle he more than compensated for in rage and Bevatron had just enough time to compare the experience to being punched by a prize-fighter before his legs collapsed beneath him and the darkness of unconsciousness obscured his vision. Hellion knew that Julio must be exhausted and badly hurt by his exertions, but that left the psychic facing an angry Teresa and Guido single-handed. A wave of Hellion's hand sprang the top off of a fire hydrant, and with a gesture he formed a force-field that redirected and refined the gushing water into an aquatic blast that hit Siryn in the face and temporarily robbed her of her vocal-based abilities. Without their protection, the force of the water beam was enough to stun her and remove her from the fight, leaving Guido and Hellion as the sole combatants. Hellion tried redirecting the water beam at Guido but the huge man simply absorbed the physical blow and channelled it into a punch aimed at Hellion's head. The psychic mutant rolled aside and swooped into the air beyond Guido's reach but before he could concoct a plan something grabbed his collar and spun him around. A fist slammed into his stomach and the hand grasping his collar hurled him towards the ground at punishing speed. He was quick enough to form the beginnings of a weak shield, but feeble as it was it allowed him to escape from what could easily have been a fatal attack with a fractured arm, several broken ribs and concussion. Guido looked to see who he had to thank for his rescue and saw Monet floating in the air, her white dress billowing dramatically.

"Thanks for the save," he said gratefully. His thanks went unappreciated, and his only reward was a dismissive sneer.

"I don't suppose you could have made any _more _noise could you?" Monet scoffed. "Just get the van and the others, we've captured Liebewitz. Let's get out of here before you attract any more unwelcome attention." She landed and ran down a side alley, presumably to where the captive was being held.

"'I don't suppose you could have any more noise'," Guido mocked her retreating back, but picked up the half-stunned bodies of his team-mates and placed them in the back of the van. He managed to cram his own oversized torso behind the steering wheel and waited for a few seconds before James ran across the street and leapt into the passenger street. Monet was a half-pace behind with a comatose body slung over her shoulder and an expression of extreme annoyance on her face. She tossed the body none-too-gently into the back of the van and sprang in herself.

"Hit it," James said tersely. Guido needed no second telling; he slammed a foot on the accelerator and the van rocketed away down the street.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Own nothing, make nothing, all copyright is of the original creators.**

**Thanks for the review Baddogg, there will be a few other little cameos here and there. Fun as the 'main' Evo characters are, I like to add some newcomers now and again.**

**CHAPTER III: Room 101**

"Slow down will you? We've already caused a fight in the middle of the street in the process of kidnapping a well known figure, the last thing we need is to get pulled over for speeding!" James barked at his driver. Guido's massive chest and shoulders filled most of the front of the van and James had to flatten himself against the seat to avoid an elbow to the face every time the van cornered.

"Fine," Guido muttered and eased off on the accelerator until they were 'only' doing seventy, and in an urban area that was still too much. At another warning glare from his leader he rolled his eyes and slowed the down until it was back within the speed limit. James tried to ignore the muttering of his team-mate, which mainly revolved around the terms 'killjoy' and 'glorious leader,' and turned to the others in the back.

"How's Liebewitz?" he asked.

"Unconscious," Monet deadpanned. James glared at her until she elaborated. "He's out until I say otherwise. It's just a simple stun job; I don't want to try anything more complicated in the back of a bucket of rust driven by a maniac with a speed obsession."

"It's _not _a bucket of rust, it's a very reliable machine," Guido grumbled from the driver's seat. He deliberately added a brief burst of speed and was rewarded with a yelp as a distracted Monet banged her head against the side of the van.

"Don't think I won't come up there and-" Monet began, but she stopped as she noticed the previously comatose Liebewitz was stirring feebly and muttering.

"Why, Ms. St Croix… you look delightful… why don't we…" she put her hand on his forehead and gave him the telepathic equivalent of a rabbit punch, and he lapsed back into silence. She noticed that Teresa was looking amused and Julio seemed curious.

"He's unconscious, dreaming, it doesn't mean anything," she snapped, but neither of them bothered to stop smirking at her discomfort. Guido cut a large chunk out of another corner and everyone was thrown sideways. Liebewitz's head banged against the window and he started murmuring again.

"Oh yes, just like that… don't stop now…"

It was too much for Teresa who burst of laughing; that started Guido chuckling in the front seat and even Julio sniggered to himself in a manner Monet considered distinctly dirty. James managed to refrain from laughing out loud but did go rigidly poker-faced as he fought back laughter. Monet glowered at them all and applied another psychic blow to try and make sure things didn't get even more embarrassing. Seeing they were almost back at what passed for their headquarters, Guido eased off on the speed and parked up, pretty neatly by his standards.

"Well, what do you know? We all survived a trip with Carosella at the wheel," commented Monet. The others suspected she was trying to deflect attention from her own rather embarrassing situation, but had to admit she had a point. Julio for one was seriously wondering whether he had just managed to find a mode of transport he hated even more than flight. At the moment he thought flying probably still edged it out, but it was a very close matter.

James was the first inside, followed by Guido, who was carrying Liebewitz, and without any particular gentleness. He knew as well as the girls what the seedy businessman had been up to and liked it about as much. He stumped off towards what the investigators had taken to calling 'Room 101' in honour of its role as interrogation centre. Tonight they full intended for it to live up to the name. Guido dumped Liebewitz in the chair and walked back out, locking the door behind him. Much as he would like to start 'questioning' the corrupt businessman, he knew that this was still at heart a professional job, and that whatever there own feelings on the matter, the questions they had to answer were those of their client. He found the others gathered in the room that served duties as kitchen, briefing room and occasionally battleground when the group suffered 'creative differences.' Currently it looked as though this was edging towards one such occasion as they debated who got to take part in questioning their new guest.

"I think I should do it," Monet said. "I mean, he knows I'm involved, and he knows what I can do- that's going to worry him a little bit."

"Yeah but he knows what you can do," Teresa countered, baffling several of her team-mates. "Whereas if he's faced with a totally unknown figure and doesn't know exactly what I- or rather, _they _can do… _that _would worry him, right?"

"I say we just punch him until he tells us what we want to know," said Guido. Everyone looked at him, more in exasperation than shock; Guido's favoured means of persuasion almost always featured him repeatedly applying extreme force to whatever was the problem at that time.

"Why does that not surprise me?" Monet sighed.

"What? I like punching things. I'm good at it," he excused himself.

"No, we need to try something a little more subtle, to begin with anyway," James decided. "I'm going in first and Monet will be backing me up. If that does not work, then we'll see what the next move should be."

"Oh boy… he's got his leader face on," Guido muttered. The others protested the decision but not particularly vociferously; they knew Guido was right and nothing was likely to change his mind. Monet made sure to flaunt her position in the face of the other members.

"Never mind, I'm sure eventually you'll get a chance to try," she said in a tone that completely belied her words. She strutted after James, ignoring the glares of the others. All of them were bemused as to how even her retreating backside could appear arrogant, although Julio for one acknowledged that for all that, it still remained a rather nice bottom. They watched the door click shut behind the two. Guido leant back, making his chair creak alarmingly.

"So… Who's up for a round of poker?"

Liebewitz was still unconscious when they walked in. James slumped into a chair across the desk and nodded to Monet. She placed herself behind the unconscious man then lifted the psychically induced trance he was under. He moaned and twitched his way back into the realm of consciousness. The first thing his eyes fell on was James, slouching in his seat but still wearing the white shirt and red tie he had worn in his guise as the waiter.

"What… you were the... you're…" To his credit, he mastered his shock very quickly and made a valiant attempt to take charge of the situation. "You're going to let me go right now or so help me God I'm going to-"

"You're going nowhere," James cut across his bluster. "And you're doing nothing. You give us the answers we want and we let you go minus your memory of the last week."

"And if I refuse?" The question was defiant but the courage behind it was brittle and unconvincing. Liebewitz was a powerful man, but powerful in the sense he could order people and spend money until problems were taken care of. Alone, surrounded and unable to contact people, he was as vulnerable as the next man, maybe even more; he was not in the prime of life and took no great care with his health.

"If you refuse, well, that's when things get interesting. You probably gathered when we abducted you, but my colleagues and I are all mutants. I mean, we could get the telepath to rip the knowledge we need right out of your brain. Sure, it would probably permanently destroy your higher brain processes, but on the plus side, it would be physically painless. On the other hand, we could go for leaving your brain intact but with plenty of pain instead. I mean, Ms St Croix here could pull off your limbs and not even feel it, and we've got a guy here who makes her look positively puny. The choice is yours." James leant back again, every line of his face and posture radiating menacing sincerity. Even Monet, who knew James well and had worked alongside him on similar interrogations, was impressed and a little intimidated.

"St. Croix?" Even in the long list of explicit and implicit threats and warnings, that name had clearly struck Liebewitz, as well it might; after all, he had been working with a girl of that name for several weeks, in fact only earlier that night they had been at a restaurant and then she had… had… his eyes widened as Monet circled around into his line of sight.

"That's right," she confirmed. Normally her French accent varied between insulting and alluring depending on what mood she was in, but right now it was as dangerous as James had ever heard it. "You arrogant, slimy, disgusting little excuse for a man. I've seen inside your head… and I'm _begging _you, give me an excuse to wipe it clean."

"You've been lying to me! The whole time… all the promises you made and the plans we came up with together-"

"Were to trick you and get you to confess," she snapped. She smirked at the look of confusion and bereavement on his face. She was fully aware of her own attractiveness and had absolutely no compunction abut using it to her advantage. In fact she found the piteous expression on his face now nearly made up for the shock and embarrassment of when his hand had slid around her waist earlier that night. Nearly... but not quite. It was time to tighten the screws a little, she thought. "We've got records on everything you said and copies of all the plans you wrote. Give us answers and we can leave it there… my boss is insistent that we can't hurt you more any more than necessary. Of course, if you refuse…"

"Then it's a matter of working out just how much is necessary after all," James cut in. He was vaguely aware that he was supposed to be in the role of the friendly, conversational half of the team but supposed that thanks to Monet's attitude he was filling that role by default.

"Oh, I get it. The old good cop, bad cop routine. It won't work on me… Daniel Liebewitz is made of stronger stuff," Liebewitz told them, summing up reserves of courage and defiance that neither of the investigators had expected. Of course, they were much too experienced and canny to allow that surprise to show.

"Really? Well, thanks for saving us time wasting with that old trick," James said. "I suppose that means its right onto the bad cop, worse cop instead." He nodded to Monet who grabbed one of Liebewitz's wrists and twisted it up behind his back. He could not hold back a grunt of pain, which brought a cold smile to the lips that Monet placed to one of his ears.

"Does that-" she yanked it again- "hurt? Does _this_?" She did it again, even harder, eliciting an agonised yelp. "You feel that? Because I don't. I'm not even trying here. You want me to _try _and hurt you? Just say the word and I'll be happy to oblige."

"You wouldn't dare," Liebewitz contradicted her. "If I should suddenly appear with injuries then not even mutie freaks like you can wriggle your way out of it."

"Cracking out the old 'mutie' line huh?" James asked aloud. "Got to hand it to you… you've got balls to try that here."

"I can correct that," Monet chipped in menacingly. "You turning up with injuries would certainly cause problems for us… so I guess we'll just have to make sure you never turn up again."

"Not in one piece, anyway," James added. Liebewitz had proven himself to be much braver than either of them had suspected but his breaths had been growing more and more ragged as they cranked up the severity and danger of the threats they posed, and a cold sweat was dribbling from his forehead and balding cranium. James had seen this kind of behaviour before and knew there were two likely outcomes: either Liebewitz would crack like a fractured eggshell or he would figure that he was screwed either way and decide to resist as long as he could and at least salvage his pride.

"I'm not afraid of freaks like you," Liebewitz snarled, clearly choosing option B. James did not look perturbed by the defiance, in fact he was wearing an expression similar to that worn by teachers faced by unruly pupils; for all the bluster and the shouting, only one of them was ever going to come out on top, and both knew which it would be.

"Maybe. But what about freaks like him?" As soon as James finished speaking, the door smashed open, right on cue. What little light that had suddenly poured in from the corridor beyond was blanked out with equal suddenness as a massive, hulking shape loomed in the doorway. Guido, alerted telepathically by Monet, had arrived with perfect timing and now stumped slowly towards the increasingly petrified Liebewitz, who seemed to have temporarily lost the power of speech in his terror. The shadows of the room enhanced Guido's not inconsiderable menace a dozen-fold. The low light cast shadows up his arms and across his chest, adding definition to the great slabs of muscle, and the glasses that Guido wore hid meant that all that Liebewitz could see of his new interrogator's expression was a distinctly menacing glint where eyes should be.

"You left or right handed?" the massive mutant demanded. "Just so's I know which arm to tear off first."

Liebewitz regained a certain degree of speech, but only enough to make incoherent gagging, gasping sounds.

"Gah guh gar? What's that supposed to mean?" Guido demanded. Normally he injected a jocular tone into his immensely deep bass voice, but without its presence he sounded just as much an angry, vengeful titan as he looked. He reached out one immense hand, but instead of grasping either arm it closed on Liebewitz's face. It was so big that the finger and thumb met on the far end of the businessman's skull. Liebewitz fainted to the accompaniment of a quiet spattering sound as his kidneys gave out in fear. Guido dropped him in disgust.

"Now what do we do with the creep?" He asked.

"Well, we tried playing nicely. Guess we'll have to do it the hard way," James said grimly.

Further down the corridor was the flight of stairs that connected it to the main building. Currently occupying said steps were Julio and Teresa, who although had not been privy to Guido's mental command had guessed its nature due to his dark expression and purposeful tread. They had overheard most of the interrogation and Julio was grappling with a sensation he generally avoided completely, in fact it was so unfamiliar it took him a while to put a name to it. Finally he realised what it was: doubt about what he was doing. Although technically he himself was not doing a thing he was privy to and compliant with of what his friends and team-mates were doing to their prisoner. He had never before doubted the righteousness of what they did, even the more questionable actions they performed and assignments they accepted (and there were plenty of examples of both) he justified with the fact that sometimes they needed doing… and if Cortex Investigations didn't, whose to say a more unscrupulous individual or team wouldn't do it instead? But this seemed different for some reason. He knew that Liebewitz was not a nice man by any means but this was not questioning some two-bit would-be gangster about yet another street crime; this was forcibly abducting a man who could not defend himself and subjecting him to techniques and threats that Julio would previously only associate with the Bad Guys, the tag he applied to their every enemy _du jour_. He could not help a bitter laugh. They were about to question and almost certainly bring down an immoral, unscrupulous, manipulative exploiter and abuser of their fellow mutants, and he was questioning their cause… why not just break the damn guy out if that was how he was going to react?

"What's the matter?" Teresa asked, not mistaking the laugh for a happy or content one. Somehow her Irish lilt made her obvious sympathy and concern for her friend and colleague seem even more sincere and kind. Julio looked at the redhead with a bitter smile twisting his lips.

"You're probably going to think I'm pathetic for saying it, but… it's just… Liebewitz. I mean, I _know _he's an asshole, and god knows he had this coming; it's just, I don't know… who are we to do this to him? We would never even have heard of the creep if we hadn't been tipped off, and now we're… _torturing_… him? I… it just doesn't… forget it. Forget I said anything." He turned and stormed off, feeling embarrassed at his perceived weakness and unfair anger at Teresa for being there to discover and remember it. He lit up one of the cigarettes he'd promised everyone he'd given up. Mostly he had, but in circumstances like these he felt the situation validated him. He didn't hear Teresa coming until she spoke to him.

"You alright, Julio?" She asked. Even in his anger and shame, Julio had to admit she had one hell of a sexy voice. One of the side effects that her power had on her vocal chords was that in conversation at normal talking volume her voice was peculiarly husky, which suited her accent well. He felt a new wave of self-recrimination sweep over him. First he was coming over all weak and doubtful about a cause he'd followed with passion, now to distract himself he started sexualising his friend as a diversion. Although, how could he not? With her red hair and generous breasts emphasised and enhanced by her choice of black corset, she was… no, it wasn't her, it was him. Instead of distracting himself he had only made himself feel worse than before.

"Fine." He deliberately looked the other way, hoping she would take the hint and leave him alone to wallow in his self-pity until his head cleared. She didn't. In fact, such was her worry she didn't even bother making a scathing comment about his smoking, and that had to be a first.

"Julio Richter, professional badass, is worrying for the health of a scumbag like Liebewitz? Something's not right with that. Come on, talk to me. I can help you."

"Yes, by minding your own business," Julio snapped. It was unlike the perpetually laid-back Mexican to snap at _anything_, let alone a good friend. Teresa was almost too surprised to be hurt. Julio instantly regretted the sharp tone he'd taken but did not apologise. If she could not take a gentle hint, maybe a forceful one would work instead. "Let me handle it on my own," he growled and stalked off.

"Fine, on your own it is you bloody idiot," Teresa told his retreating back. "But you can put that damn cigarette out _right _now!"

Julio's only reply was to toss the half-smoked cigarette over his shoulder, followed by a rude gesture. Teresa watched him go, her expression unreadable but inwardly trying to balance concern, anger and surprise at his actions. Hopefully as soon as the others got what they wanted they would dump a suddenly amnesiac Liebewitz and never see him again, then Julio would be back to his usual sardonic self. She sighed and headed back to the interrogation room. The sooner it was over, the sooner the whole sorry case could be consigned to a brief report on a computer and never read again.

Down in Room 101, the trio of interrogators were discussing their next move. For one thing, Liebewitz had shown more resolve than they would have guessed, and if he could surprise them like that once it was not inconceivable he could do it again. Of course, for that to happen they would have to wake him up again, and it was possible he would go the opposite direction and prove enough of a coward to faint at the mere prospect of pain.

"I could hit him," Guido offered hopefully. Monet gave him her best scathing look.

"We want him to wake up, you moron," she said snidely. Guido did not look put out by the rudeness of her voice or actions.

"Just saying," he said affably. "So if brutal but richly deserved violence is out, what's the next move?"

James paced uncertainly back and forth. There was no carpet in the room but if there had been he would have worn right through it in his constant pensive strides. He was trying to balance the potential outcomes of his options. He could not treat Liebewitz the same way he would most of the people they ended up questioning. If a street thug ended up with injuries or a slightly warped memory then no-one would think twice. There were many worse fates awaiting would be criminals out there. On the other hand, Daniel Liebewitz was wealthy, influential and reasonably well known. Despite their contradictions, he had had a point when he said his status protected him. They would have to be careful with him.

"Right," James decided. "Monet, just get into his head and get what we need. Try not to cause too much damage but if there's a little bit don't sweat it, we're going to need his memory wiped anyway."

"Done," Monet agreed. "I'm going to need privacy to get this right, so if you could give me and this creep a bit of alone time I'll have the information as soon as possible."

"Okay. Come on Guido, let's leave her to it." The two men strolled out of the room and left the Algeria-born mutant to deal with her prisoner. She performed a few brief calming exercises and concentrated on clearing her mind of extraneous thoughts. Her telepathic powers were not particularly potent and she would have to concentrate hard to make sure she was successful. She put a hand on Liebewitz's forehead and imagined an electric shock passing down her arm. The captive businessman gasped and fell unconscious. Monet imagined tendrils of thought growing from her forehead and plunging into Liebewitz's; she found it much easier to use her powers when she had a visual image to focus on. The 'thought tentacles' burrowed deeper into the brain of her captive and she felt the familiar shock of connecting minds. Non-telepaths could never comprehend the sensation, and on the one occasion she had tried to explain it she found words could never fully do justice to the feeling. The closest she could come was to liken it to feeling a huge adrenaline rush while in a busy canteen: a sudden surge of energy while sights and sounds bombarded her senses. But that could not begin to describe the vivid complexity of the feeling. She heard every half-finished thought and question that ran through his mind, but at the same time his emotions pulsed through the link back to her until she was not sure if it was her own fear and confusion she felt or his own, or was it he who was for some reason confident in his abilities and she the cowering wretch? She had only once met another telepath, a red-haired woman calling herself 'Jean Grey' who had made a laughable attempt to convince Monet to work for a 'Professor X' and his team of mutant mercenaries. Needless to say, Monet had dismissed it out of hand, but Grey had communicated with Monet telepathically and seemingly with ease, apparently not feeling the same strain Monet did.

Monet realised that in extending her mind in this way she was losing control of it, her thoughts rambling and disconnected to the task in hand. She focussed and resumed scanning Liebewitz's psyche for what she needed. She eventually pinpointed his memories and from there it was simple to find the specific one she was after. She yanked at it until it fell open and the scene played out before her mind's eye.

_She was looking through the eyes of Liebewitz as he sat around a table with several other men, and even one woman. Most of the men had the same fleshy, seedy appearance as Liebewitz himself, and these faces she consigned to her memory with ease. Her main attention was on the two men who sat together and noticeably apart from the others, with the woman sat at the side of one of them. Each of the trio looked distinctly more menacing and dangerous than the fat corporate pigs they were dealing with. The woman was dressed in a neat business suit, as was the man on the left, but the third man, the one at the centre and clearly the leader, was dressed in a suit that somehow looked old-fashioned, but on him appeared intimidating in its incongruity. She tried to see there faces but for some reason her eyes kept slipping to one side or above and below them instead of focussing, and every time she made the attempt she felt the eyes back in her body start to water painfully. She realised that the memory she was currently exploring had been tampered with somehow, presumably by one of the trio, or by a powerful telepath on their behalf. Now no-one, not even Liebewitz himself, would work out who the three were without being told. The middle man spoke and his voice brooked no interruptions; it was a voice used to being obeyed and that commanded attention._

"_I trust that we are all in agreement as to our next move," he said to the room at large._

"_After what happened to Palloni, how could we not be?" muttered one of the businessmen under his breath, but the commanding man heard the comment._

"_I'm sure if Mr Palloni's unfortunate injury had not prevented his presence here today he would agree with it too," he said smoothly. It was clearly both a threat and a challenge to the dissenter, and Monet was sure that the 'unfortunate injury' was no accident. An image flashed through her mind of a body covered in bruises and with several limbs in plaster, the face so swollen to be unrecognisable. She realised the thought had actually come from Liebewitz, and she guessed that this poor soul must be Palloni, post-'accident.'_

"_People are going to start noticing if we keep up the current rate," another voice pointed out. "Mutants or not, all these disappearances won't be ignored forever."_

"_Our workforce is in constant need of fresh recruits," the commanding man said. "Unfortunately the rate and nature of the work means very few have the lasting rate we would desire."_

"_I too require new subjects," the man on his left said. His voice was smooth and cultured, and Monet thought she picked up a trace of an English accent. "My research is of a highly… experimental nature. The survival rate leaves a little to be desired, I admit."_

"_But can't we at least try new, uh, techniques for recruitment? My clubs are highly popular but only a lucky tip-off from one of my sources prevented a police raid on one of them getting some rather incriminating evidence," one protested._

"_Deal with them, or be dealt with," the commanding voice said coldly._

"_I have often found my methods to be perfectly adequate," another voice chipped in. Monet managed to work out who this new speaker was; the accent fitted only the Chinese man sitting across from Liebewitz._

"_Some of us are too well regarded to be seen dealing with mutants," another man pointed out. The jibe about regard obviously stung the Chinese man and the expression on his face suggested swift and painful retribution would be visited upon the speaker._

"_If you gentlemen would care to cease your squabbling?" the commanding voice suggested, and both men shut up immediately. "Mutants are the basis of our workers, we need as many as we can safely afford."_

"_It will be done," said one of the men, and was soon followed by variations on the same theme._

"_Excellent," said the commanding voice. "Very well, gentlemen. Please do not let me detain you further…"_

_The businessmen filed out and one of them approached Liebewitz. He was a particularly repugnant specimen even amongst this crowd, his diminutive height emphasising his fatness._

"_I take it our new enterprise is still going well?" he asked. Monet recognised the oily voice as that of the man who had mentioned a raid on his 'club.'_

"_Extremely," Liebewitz affirmed. "I would never have guessed such a high demand for mutants in this line of work. I guess there really is no accounting for taste."_

"_I myself have recently come into possession of a particularly fetching young lady," the oily man replied. "I was going to break her in myself, but if you would like to assist…"_

"_Possibly…" Liebewitz avoided committing himself, but his next words proved Monet's darkest suspicions were completely accurate. "I have managed to find a new partner myself. Miss St. Croix is exceptionally beautiful herself, and fortunately not too bright. I daresay once our business partnership flourishes our personal interaction can… proceed."_

_The fat man laughed loudly. "I see. Possibly we can make a trade once you tire of your new pet."_

_Monet felt a new surge of rage, and with her powers already extended to the limit she felt the weave of her mental connection start to come apart. She considered renewing it but decided against it. She had the proof she needed and the information required by their client. She concentrated hard-_

-And her body juddered and gasped as her consciousness returned to its shell. She found that she was trembling as much from anger as from exertion and had to make a concerted effort not to take out her rage on the unconscious body of Liebewitz. James burst in, clearly overhearing her distress. Monet prided herself on her self control and composure but could not help briefly clutching at him. He seemed to understand and drew her close. Despite the intimacy of their pose it was not physical attraction or release Monet required, only the soothing presence of a real human- and humane- being after her contact with such despicable people as those in the memory.

"You ever mention this and I swear I will tear off your arms," she whispered into James' ear. He smiled softly and whispered back.

"Your secret is safe with me." He pushed her away and looked at the unconscious body lying half on and half off the seat. It seemed Monet's intrusion had drawn energy from her subject just as much as her own body, as Liebewitz's skin was dripping with sweat and his face was contorted with an expression that managed to convey shock, fear and exhaustion at the same time. "Did you get the other names and faces we wanted?"

"Yes... Well, as best I can. I'll fit up some pictures for when Lucas arrives. I'd better wipe this… this…" words temporarily failed her. "… _His _memory."

"Okay. I'll get onto Bishop."

Monet turned back to the body and put a hand on his forehead again. She visualised a waterfall pouring through the link and into Liebewitz's mind, scouring it of thoughts and memories. She had originally thought to just remove the details pertaining to herself and her colleagues but she was so disgusted that she decided he did not merit her exerting herself to that degree. The brutality of the action was such that not only was his memory of recent events gone, so was his very memory of identity. Being psychically induced, it was not simple amnesia he would suffer. The memories were not forgotten; they were gone completely. David Liebewitz was dead; now there was just an empty shell of a body that bore his face. She turned to James and nodded that it was complete. They left the room and headed up the stairs. Neither of them looked around as the body slid off the chair and to the floor with a meaty crunch.

It was some time later that Lucas Bishop turned up at the headquarters of Cortex Investigations. The big African-American detective was a regular cop and technically should not associate with private eyes like Cortex Investigations, but he had found their help very useful in a more personal matter several years ago, and now often traded favours with them. They had told him the nature of the case and he had promised that should they accumulate enough evidence he would try and make sure Liebewitz was prosecuted legally. That was clearly no longer an option, but the folder that was shoved into his hands and the computer drive James handed him made sure that the other faces Monet had seen would soon be within the reach of the long arm of the law. When the cop had gone and a rambling, apparently insane man in a neat suit had been slung into an anonymous back alley, the young private investigators gathered together to congratulate themselves on a job well done.

"God I'm glad that's over," Teresa said, expressing the thoughts of all of them. Julio in particular had brightened perceptibly after the closing of the case, possibly because of how much harder he had taken it in the first place.

"On the plus side, the only from here is up," he commented.

"You ever heard the term 'tempting fate?'" Guido asked wryly.

"Have _you _ever heard the term 'shut up,'" Julio countered quickly. James sensed an argument coming on.

"Come on guys… Anyone else up for pizza? I'll even cook it myself!" he interjected. The statement was met with groans rather than the appreciative cheers he'd hoped for.

"What did we do to deserve your cooking?" Monet demanded. Suddenly James started to laugh and then Guido started to chuckle. Before long the entire group was laughing like maniacs, with the exception of Monet, who had been completely serious.

"How did I end up with these idiots?"


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER IV: The Girl Who Knows Stuff**

_A bar in Bayville_

Why exactly Duncan Matthews had ever thought it would be a good idea to get into a game of cards with a total stranger, he would never know. When the stranger had suggested it in his smooth Cajun drawl, Duncan had turned to him to tell the stranger exactly where the cards should be shoved. However, at some stage between turning and speaking his eyes met the strangers' and the next thing he was doing was watching cards being dealt so fast they blurred. It was not a tremendous relief to see that several other guys had all been roped in, presumably the same mysterious way that Duncan had… whatever that may have been. All of them were big guys, none of them in good condition but with enough muscle underneath the fat to snap the card dealer in two. Hell, Duncan had gone up against that freak Summers; he could probably take this jackass. So why was the guy feeling so confident? The shades covering his eyes made his expression hard to read but the small smirk playing on his lips suggested that he was pretty damn sure of his own superiority.

"You all ready mon amis?" The guy asked. One of the other guys worked up the courage to make the demand Duncan had been steeling himself to make.

"Hey, why don't you take off those damn shades?"

"Remy really doesn't think that's a good idea," the dealer said. And that appeared to be that. The guy's total lack of fear, his total lack of _respect_, suggested that there was nothing they could say or do to change his mind, and the way his smile had gone from smug to dangerous suggested it would be a bad idea to try.

Within fifteen minutes the pile of money in front of the dealer had grown exponentially and all of his fellow players were running short. Already more than one of them had tried to quit while he still had money, giving up on pride, but always the Cajun would ask, "What's the matter mon brave? Can't handle Remy's skill?" and always in the face of common sense and financial prudence the man would sit down again and take another hand, and always another pile of money would end up slid towards the stranger. Duncan was convinced that 'Remy' was cheating somehow but such was the blinding speed the man's hands moved with it hurt to even look at them, much less even see where the trick was being played. Five minutes later and someone else summoned the courage to demand a change of dealer.

"Remy's hurt. Don't you trust me?" Remy asked, but when they all shook their heads and muttered vague threats he just shrugged. "Alright, Remy doesn't mind as long as he gets the money in the end."

The very next hand dealt and Remy was beaten by a meaty-looking guy to the left of Duncan, who could not help a triumphant cry. He knew it, the man was a cheat and a fraud, as soon as he could not alter the cards his suspicious luck ran out on him. The next hand was dealt before Duncan could say anything, but he did not say anything. Let the guy stew, he must know as surely as Duncan did that the game was up and his trick blown. It was something of a shock therefore when Remy won the round with an unbeatable hand. Finally one of the other men lost his last dollar and stood up.

"You're leavin' us so soon?" Remy asked, a faint note of mockery in his voice.

"Damn right I am. I ain't losing any more to you," the guy snarled. It was as if a spell had been broken. The others muttered agreement and slid their cards back across the table to the Cajun gambler. He riffled them from hand to hand and stared right at the only remaining man at the table: Duncan, who tried to return the stare but was defeated by the cold, unreadable lenses. Something about the guy seemed familiar but he couldn't place him exactly.

"You feelin' brave, mon ami? You want to try a little blackjack, just you an' Remy?" the Cajun asked. Duncan gave up trying to work out how he knew this guy. It was a bit like an itch of the brain, annoying in its persistence but too faint to properly deal with.

"Nah, you win," he said with a cheerfulness he didn't entirely feel. He moved off, feeling the man's eyes burning holes in his shoulder-blades even through the dark shades. He turned and nearly tripped over a diminutive figure that had been standing right behind him. The figure stumbled away but Duncan was in no mood to be apologetic. "Get the hell out of my way," he grunted. He stormed over to the bar and ordered a drink. Behind him the barged figure was staring at Remy.

"Why'd you talk like that?" it demanded. Remy had not noticed his new companion; he had been practicing flipping cards.

"Hunh?" He glanced over, and then when he saw no-one, down a little bit. A young girl was looking at him curiously. She could not be older than her very early teens, her innocent childishness emphasised by the way her blonde hair was pulled into pigtails. She met his gaze evenly, surprising him slightly.

"I asked why you talked like that," she repeated.

"Well petite, where Remy comes from we don' always talk the same as most guys," he said.

"You don't normally use the third person like that. It sounds kind of dumb, especially when you overdo the accent," she said calmly. Remy could not help laughing. The girl may be young but she certainly wasn't childish. She was perceptive too to pick up on his disarming 'Cajun from the old Bayou' act; in fact it was almost suspicious.

"Okay, you got Remy-" the girl pouted angrily at him and he laughed again- "I mean, you got me."

"I know," she said. "I know how you did that trick with the cards as well. You kept good hands in your pocket, they looked exactly the same as the rest but when you dealt so quickly no one picked up on the switch."

Remy was impressed. That was exactly how he had done it, and not for the first time. In fact when he was dodging heat from a thieving job or cash was running low he would often run the same scam, using his charm to rope in a few idiots and skimming a neat day's profit off them. He had been doing it long enough to fool practiced card-sharps and professional players alike, but somehow this girl had either seen it or worked it out. Either was an impressive feat.

"That's pretty clever, petite. How'd you work it out?" he asked curiously. Partly he was genuinely curious but in the main he was motivated by self-interest. If there was some tell that this young girl had worked out maybe it could happen again, so he had to try and cut it out in future.

"My name's not Petite," he was informed. "My name's Layla."

"A pretty name for a pretty girl," Remy said. He certainly didn't put any real feeling behind the words, she was way too young for that, but habitual womaniser that he was he had instantly seen that when she grew up a few years she would indeed very pretty. Besides, Remy LeBeau would not be Remy LeBeau if he did not flatter any girl he met, however true his words may be. "Smart, too. How'd you work it out?"

"I didn't," she said, throwing him slightly. Her next words did nothing to clear things up. "I just know stuff."

"You just know stuff?" he repeated, confused. Duncan had overheard part of the conversation, including the bit about how Remy had cheated him, but even he was not stupid enough to try and start something in the bar itself. Besides, he was beginning to suspect there was more to Remy than met the eye. He slid a few feet closer, listening in even as he pretended to examine the bottom of his glass.

"Yes. I'm like you, you see," Layla explained with the earnestness only young children could manage. Her serious look made Remy smile but without malice. Something about how seriously this little girl was treating the conversation was appealing in a strange way and he found himself amused by the whole affair.

"A thieving con man? Somehow I doubt that," he said, smiling.

"No, not that," she said. Her expression was full of the exasperation children always displayed when confronted by stupid adults. She sidled closer, and unseen by either of them, Duncan did the same. He was close enough to overhear her hushed whisper:

"I'm a mutant too."

"What makes you think I'm a mutant?" Remy asked. The shades had been chosen specifically to hide the tell-tale red-on-black eyes that had widened in surprise, and he had been sure not to show any hint of his powers. Duncan was beginning to piece it together too. Now he knew why the guy seemed familiar; Duncan had seen him hanging around that psycho Rogue chick once.

"I _told _you, I know stuff," Layla said, seemingly on the verge of stamping her foot in annoyance.

"I don't think this is a conversation we should be having right here," Remy said. His thieving instincts for unseen danger were beginning to tingle and he was convinced that someone was eavesdropping, even if he couldn't see who it was. "How'd a petite like you get in here anyway?"

"The guy on the door always goes for a smoke at half past two and is gone for five minutes, every day, so I managed to sneak in," Layla explained. "And we are being listened to so we need to leave now."

Remy would have been amused by the presumptuous 'we' that assumed he would do as Layla commanded, but it seemed to tie in with his own half-formed suspicions. She seemed a lot more certain than he was though.

"You seem pretty sure, petite," he said curiously. "But then, you just _know_ stuff don't you?"

"Yeah, now please Remy can we get out of here?" She asked. She seemed genuinely worried and at last her mature mask was beginning to slip and she looked like the innocent girl she was, even if calling him 'Remy' seemed a little familiar for someone who'd known him barely five minutes... and now he thought about it, he hadn't introduced himself. She must have 'just known' his name- but how? He dismissed his worrying. He could handle any female on the planet; this little girl was no problem.

"Sure, petite. Let's go." Remy shrugged on his long coat and headed for the rear exit out of instinct. Layla tagged along so closely that for a minute he suspected she would try and grasp his hand for comfort. She didn't, but she did adhere so tightly to his side she risked being accidentally kicked. Duncan downed his pint in one and stalked after them. He saw three of his fellow players also watching the Cajun and his new friend; it seemed he wasn't the only one with suspicions. He mouthed the word 'mutants' and jerked a thumb at the retreating pair, and saw the men's faces harden with anger. Not only was it bad enough to lose so humiliatingly, they had lost to a damn mutant. Either offence would be bad enough to earn the motor-mouthed cardsharp a beating, a combination of both would earn him a thrashing so severe he'd be lucky to walk again.

Remy and Layla were still walking away but both seemed lost in thought. Remy was thinking about his next move and Layla appeared to be thinking about what was occupying the Cajun mutant.

"It won't work," she said sadly. "It's a good plan but it won't work out that way."

"What won't?" Remy asked. He had indeed been concocting a plan and he suspected that Layla knew what it was. So far the 'stuff' she knew seemed pretty accurate. He had actually been toying with one idea for a while before today, but fate appeared to be suggesting this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for. With Magneto's apparent disappearance Remy had found himself lacking a cause; thieving had lost its thrill and even the old con tricks and gambling no longer gave him the same heady rush. Besides, something deep inside was nagging at him, and had been since the time his father had been kidnapped. Ever since that day he had found a life of crime appealed less and less, he yearned for a new beginning and a fresh challenge. His best shot at that would probably be the X-Men, the leader of who had extended an offer of peace after the Apocalypse incident. He had turned it down then, thinking it would limit his opportunities and ruin his fun, but had since come to rethink his position. Of course, he knew that the one called Wolverine would not trust him at all, and ever since his bodged kidnap attempt, the girl called Rogue would trust him even less. In fact she would probably hate him on principle, and he couldn't really blame her.

Now he had a good opportunity to prove his worth; if he could accompany a new mutant who needed help to the Institute it may prove that he had genuinely turned a corner in his life. Enter Layla, but now she was telling him that his plan was doomed even before he worked out some of the wrinkles in his still-in-progress scheme. As they passed a side alley way a truck slowed as it drew closer. Now Remy's instincts were blaring a warning and he had grabbed Layla and dived into an alleyway even before the empty bottle soared out of the window and smashed into the wall exactly where his head had been a few seconds prior.

"Stay behind me petite, these guys are trouble," he said, seeing some of his victims at poker piling out of the truck and advancing menacingly towards them.

"I know," Layla said, attempting casual insouciance, but there was a quaver of fear in her voice that made Remy promise to himself that he would not let these bigoted thugs lay a finger on her. He was by no means a knight in any kind of armour, but neither was he about to let a young girl get beaten up by grown men merely for a quirk of nature.

"Give me back my money you cheating freak-show!" One of them growled at him. Remy reached into an inside pocket of his coat and grabbed the handle of his staff.

"Come and get it if you think you can," he replied defiantly. The men snarled and sprang forwards, but in one motion Remy withdrew his staff, extended the retractable length and swept the feet from beneath the closest. Seeing him twirl the staff in a business-like manner, the advancing men slowed but kept coming.

"He can't fight all of us!" One encouraged his fellows, and the words spurred them to rush him in concert.

"I beg to differ," Remy said. He swayed and lashed out with feline grace. One end of the staff jabbed into a podgy stomach, winding one assailant, and in the same movement the other end swung around and into Duncan's jaw with enough force to send him reeling backwards, spitting out a dislodged tooth and a spatter of blood. The fourth man punched wildly at Remy, who twisted sideways then swung back again, using his momentum to land a quick kick right between the man's legs. The man whimpered and collapsed in agony, and now there were only three men for Remy to face, but three enraged and determined men. By splitting into a rough triangle they managed to put Remy on the defensive and force him back step by step into the alleyway.

"Run petite," he muttered out of the side of his mouth. Layla dodged past him and tried running towards the alley entrance. One of the men made a half-hearted grab at her that she sidestepped easily, but just when she was about to make her escape the man Remy had kicked in the balls had managed to regain his legs. He would be worse than useless if he had to face Remy himself but he was more than capable of restraining an eleven year old girl, no matter how much she spat and scratched and struggled. The attention of the others remained on Remy, who was after all the one who had stolen their money, in their opinion at least. Remy swiped at them and forced them back far enough that he had time to grab a handful of his playing cards. He charged them up and they glowed menacingly, reducing the advance to a slow crawl. He flicked them towards the advancing men. Two went wide, one was ducked and another was dodged but a fifth caught a man on the arm and exploded, throwing him to the floor with an arm that would at the very least be dead for several hours. Remy jabbed the staff at one of his assailants but in the confined space of the alleyway he had no space to dodge the punch aimed at his stomach by Duncan. He managed to twist aside so that it glanced off his ribcage but Duncan was a strong man and the force made Remy wince. The second man used the opportunity to grab the staff and try and wrestle it from Remy's grip. In desperation, Remy charged the staff and it blew up in a shower of fragments that made the man reel away in pain and surprise. Remy used the stump left in his hand as a crude cudgel to rap the man on the temple and he fell to the floor, stunned. Remy was as surprised as any of his attackers that he was still standing, let alone winning in so much as it was now him versus Duncan alone. The young thug knew the odds were firmly against him now but he was not going to back down in front of some mutant freak, especially one that knew those Institute assholes. He aimed a desperate punch and was surprised when it actually landed. The man hit by the cards had recovered enough to use his remaining hand to grab Remy's ankle and unbalance him. Remy toppled under the combination of the blow and the jerking of his leg. His head glanced off a wall as he fell and Duncan kicked him in the ribs and then the stomach as he lay with eyes glassy and head spinning. A boot caught him on the chin and snapped his head back, and then only his instinctive flick of the head avoided a foot stamping on his face. As it was, the blow raked down the side of his face and then the dead-armed man managed to stagger upright and over to the prone body. Luckily he was still winded and the kick lacked any real force, but with the amount of punishment Remy had already taken it even a glancing blow felt like a hit from a jackhammer.

Remy felt like a haze had settled over his brain, his mind was like an un-tuned radio with his senses blurring in and out of focus with every heartbeat and his head and torso aching from the brutal thrashing he'd received. He saw the shadows dancing on edge of his vision darken and expand, and a low hum that he thought was maybe someone speaking. The two thugs beating him looked over their shoulders and then back at one another, but his eyes were too sore and unfocussed to read their expressions. He saw them run off and managed to push himself into a sitting position.

"Yeah, that's right, and don' let me see you coming back, y'hear?" He had tried for a triumphant wisecrack but could only manage a painful whisper. With the constant pounding of feet and fists finally ceased, his brain cleared slightly and his senses began to recover. He was still pretty screwed up, he knew that much; he would be covered in bruises and he had suffered enough broken ribs in the past to know that he was sporting several now. One of his arms he could barely feel at all but from the other daggers of pain swam up his veins from the wrist to his shoulder. He tried to stand up but his legs had other plans, collapsing underneath him like twigs supporting a boulder. On his one hand and his knees he tried to make out Layla, but his mind was still reeling and his sight blurred if he moved his head faster than a slow crawl.

"Petite? You okay? Layla?" He called desperately, and as it transpired, forlornly.

"Sorry, tough guy, 'Petite' is coming with us," he was informed. "Thanks for handling those goons though. Saved us the effort." A large figure with what seemed to be short horns on his forehead loomed over him. "Hey, what do we do with this guy? Mr Li only wanted that Miller chick; he never said nothing about some guy hanging around with her."

"Shut the hell up will ya?" another voice snapped angrily. "You know we don't mention the boss on a job."

"Ah, shove it Cimetta. They did a great number on this guy, he'll be lucky to even wake up, there's no way he's going to remember us."

"Yeah, well, make sure he doesn't," said the one called Cimetta. A boot was planted right into Remy's stomach and on top of his previous injuries it was too much for Remy, who felt the burning pain melt away as he slipped into the cold, dark waters of unconsciousness.

When he finally woke up he could not tell how long he'd been out. He knew it had to be several hours at least as the sun, previously high in the afternoon sky, was now faded and withdrawn, which, Remy thought wryly, seemed to mirror his own condition rather neatly. Some time in his forcefully-induced slumber his body had gone about effecting repairs to the damage it had taken. Now it was merely extremely painful to move, which was at least an improvement on excruciating. He realised someone must have come across his unconscious body at some stage as the thick wad of money he'd had in one pocket was gone; so were the various thieves' gadgets he carried out of habit, and even his playing cards. Whoever it was had made off with all his stuff but not bothered to call for help for an injured man; Remy consoled himself with the thought that 'thief's honour' was better than none whatsoever. He tried to stand up but paused halfway as stallions with burning hooves stampeded up his spine. He made it to fully upright and stretched hesitantly. His legs were sore but usable, his left arm likewise, but the jolts of pain he suffered even moving his right hand suggested it was probably broken. Overall, all it could have been a lot worse, Remy decided. He was badly injured, out of money and without an ally or friend to help him, but he was alive, and he had a mission: rescue Layla. He knew he could not achieve it on his own and so fell back on the plan Duncan and the others had so rudely interrupted. He would enrol at Xavier's, and get them to help him. Of course, his bargaining chip had last been seen in the grip of a bigoted thug, and had presumably since been obtained by Cimetta or his horned accomplice. On the other hand, Xavier could be charitably described as generous and less so as naïve, and in Remy's current condition he thought the bald telepath would let him enter even if he had been chanting 'Die X-Men Die' and waving a gun in the air, although hopefully it would not come to that.

Almost an hour later, Rogue was standing, leaning against a wall as she tried to regain both her breath and her steady legs. Not for the first time she swore she would never ever get into any car with Kitty Pryde at the wheel. This time she had only done it out of a vague wish to escape Kurt's moping over his break-up and the sickening love-birds' swooning of Scott and Jean. They had been together nearly a year now; surely they should have grown out of the whole soul-mates-joined-at-the-hips stage? Kitty had decided to get away too, her diversion of choice definitely not being a date with Lance Alvers merely a meeting at a time and place that the rock-shaker may just possibly arrive at simultaneously… Rogue had finally decided that with Pietro gone she could probably stomach her old colleagues of the Brotherhood much easier than her current team-mates at the Institute. Now she was regretting that choice. When one shadow extracted itself from the others cast against the wall and staggered towards her she spun and punched out at it on instinct. The figure moved quickly and grabbed her wrist. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed the hand grasping her arm was wearing distinctive fingerless gloves she recognised instantly.

"What are you doing here swamp rat?" she demanded. It was indeed Remy, who looked so beaten and tired she actually felt sorry for him before she remembered she hated his guts and pity was right out.

"I need help, chere," he said.

"Then go and find it, you ain't getting it here," she said. She had to make an effort to keep the requisite antagonism in her voice. The Cajun was clearly badly hurt and despite her best efforts to convince the world otherwise, Rogue was at heart a kind and warm-hearted girl.

"Like, what's taking you so long?" a new voice interrupted. Kitty Pryde had reappeared and the ever-bubbly airhead was so cheered by her totally-not-a-date she was practically bouncing as she came to investigate what was preoccupying her friend so much. Her eyes fell on the injured Remy and widened. "Are you okay?"

"He's fine, he's just leaving," Rogue interjected but as soon as the words left her lips Remy toppled to the ground with a groan and a crunch. Rogue's sceptical look faded within seconds, no-one could fake a broken arm like that and he would have to be desperate to deliberately give himself so many bruises. "Go! Get help!" She ordered Kitty, who ran off shouting for aid. Rogue knelt by the side of the semi-conscious Remy and hoped he was too out of it to notice the tender look she was not totally able to hide.

"Don't think I won't beat the tar out of you as soon as your well enough, swamp rat," she told him.

"I look… forward to… it," Gambit managed to gasp, then fell into sleep once more.

For the third time in less than twenty-four hours the first thing he saw on opening his eyes was an unfamiliar ceiling. Soon it was obscured by the face of Rogue which hovered over him then vanished, calling words his ears were not yet sharp enough to pick out. Rogue's face was replaced by a rather less welcome one sporting fangs, blue fur and an interested expression.

"This is fascinating," he heard Hank McCoy saying. "He appears to have subconsciously charged his own cells to increase the rate of healing."

"I did?" Remy was surprised. He had assumed the lack of pain was due to the medical treatment of the X-Men and was most likely an ungodly number of painkilling drugs. He realised that he was slightly lacking the sang-froid that was his trademark trait. "I mean, that's right, I did. But... Where am I?"

"You're in the medical wing of the Institute," a third voice interrupted. For someone in a wheelchair, Professor Charles Xavier was uncannily stealthy. Even Hank's enhanced senses had not picked up on his old friend's arrival, although that may have been down to his preoccupation with examining Remy's injuries, or more specifically the lack thereof. "And while the door is always open to any mutant, I must admit to curiosity about your timing, and your condition."

"I need your help," Remy said plainly. Hank and Xavier exchanged curious glances. Even Magneto had never managed to fully rein in Remy's independent, self-reliant tendencies, and it came of something of a surprise that the thief would ever admit to needing help with anything, much less actively seeking it.

"May I ask what for?" Xavier enquired politely.

"There's a girl I found, she's only eleven-"

"No wonder Magneto got shot of you, that's disgusting," Rogue put in, surprising the senior X-Men who had not realised she was still present. Remy looked first shocked, and then offended.

"Non! Nothing like that, I was just looking out for her and then she got kidnapped by two mutants working for some guy called…" He concentrated hard but his brain had taken too much punishment to conjure up the answer that easily.

"Remind me never to let you look out for me," Rogue said dryly.

"That's not helping, Rogue," Xavier chastised her. She did her best to look appropriately remorseful but inside she was grinning and cheering herself. It felt good to be dealing out jokes at the Cajun's expense rather than be on the receiving end. Xavier either did not notice or was too concerned with Remy's tale to pursue the matter further. "I take it you're having trouble remembering the incident fully?" He asked Remy.

"I did get beaten up," Remy said defensively. "Sorry if my memory isn't exactly on fire."

"No offence intended, Mr LeBeau. I was merely enquiring as it would help me decide our next step. If it's okay with you I think I will use my powers to see events for myself," the bald telepath said.

"You want to poke around in my brain?" Remy sounded part disbelieving, part shocked and part disgusted. Thieving may have involved rummaging around other people's property but it never involved invading their minds, only their belongings.

"It's the quickest way to try and find who took the girl," Xavier pointed out.

"I know," Remy said. The words caused a surge of guilt and regret to well up as he remembered Layla saying the exact same words. The memory was replaced with the one of her eager young face and shining blue eyes clouded by fear. Remy sighed; he must be getting soft in his old age. "Okay, Professor. Do what you have to."


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER V: Ride of the Valkyrie**

_Cortex Headquarters_

Teresa stormed down the corridor. With her red hair in disarray and a face that promised thunderous vengeance upon all who dared to interrupt her, she looked like a Celtic warrior queen, Boudicca reborn. Her narrowed eyes were focussed on the far end of the corridor where James' office door was shut with a definite sense of finality and privacy, not that a little thing like private space or time alone would do anything to slow Teresa in her current state of mind. She walked right past the recreation room, not noticing two pairs of eyes watching her furious stride. In fact it was only when Guido started humming 'Ride of the Valkyries' just loud enough for her to here that she realised she was being observed. She whirled on the massive mutant who had to hunch slightly to fit in the corridor, and Julio, who had followed his friend out of the recreation room, was amused to see the gigantic muscle-bound strong man cowering before a slender vision of scarlet hair and blazing eyes.

"I expect you think that's funny, don't you?" She demanded. "Oh yes, let's all laugh at Teresa because she got stuck on desk duties, it's okay, we sit around on our lazy arses all day, we're not the idiots stuck writing notes and taking phone calls!"

"Sorry," Guido said soothingly. "Won't do it again, I promise."

"You'd better not or else I'll-"

"Da-da-dun-DA-da, da-da-dun-DA-da," Julio picked up the refrain and after a few seconds of agonising indecision, Guido could not help joining in again. Teresa was briefly too angry for words, and settled instead for seething and pointing a trembling finger at the pair, who fell silent only long enough for her back to turn before starting again, louder than before. She stormed off down the corridor and started smashing a fist against James' door.

"You don't think we may have gone a little overboard there do you?" Guido asked, looking down at Julio. The Mexican mutant seemed to consider the question for a while, turning it over in his mind. On the one hand, Teresa was fuming with rage; on the other, most of said anger appeared to be caused by and aimed at their leader instead.

"Tell you what," he said finally. "Why don't we let James find out for us?"

"Seems fair," Guido acknowledged. They watched Teresa assaulting the unyielding oak for a few seconds, and when the big mutant next spoke he made sure to lower his voice. "Five dollars on a window breaking," he offered.

"Six says it's his prized mug collection," Julio raised the bet. Guido considered the offer, then nodded.

"Deal. This is going to be interesting… wish I'd got some popcorn now."

"James Maddox, open this door _right now _or I swear by all that's holy I will blow the damn thing off its hinges!" Teresa yelled, not relenting in her furious attack for a second. Due to the nature of her powers, in a mood like this they tended to slip from her control slightly. The door was trembling slightly and the cloudy glass window was making an uncomfortable whining noise. Suddenly there was the rush of quick footsteps and the click of a lock and the door swung open, leaving her with one fist raised above her head for no apparent reason. She quickly recovered and waved a finger below the nose of the opener.

"Right Maddox you had better-"

"Oh dear, she's been at the Guinness again," sighed Monet, for it was she who had opened the door not James. She was aware of the theory that rage could cloud your vision but had never thought to see such literal evidence. For the second time in as many minutes Teresa was thrown out of her stride but once again rage came to her rescue and propelled her back onto the offensive.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Just having a private little chat with James," Monet said coldly. Her hands moved to redo the buttons of her blouse, but until the motion had grabbed Teresa's attention she had not even noticed that they had been undone in the first place. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at James, who looked back at her with such an open, honest expression she knew at once he had been up to _something_. She could work out what it was once she had unloaded about her current source of rage.

"Why is it always me who ends up as the damn receptionist?" she demanded angrily. Monet sidled out of the door unnoticed. If the Irish redhead was too angry to even notice a 'Guinness' joke then it seemed unlikely anything could get through to her. Neither of the others noticed her exit but she could have done without the knowing leers of Julio and Guido as she walked past them down the corridor. Behind her Teresa was still ranting at James, who was left open-mouthed and agog by her tirade. He had seen her angry before, with the blood in her veins a short temper was practically guaranteed, but this was a step beyond her normal tantrums.

"You think it's funny? I end up stuck there all day sitting behind an antique desk trying to sort out crank emails from the real deal, answering phone calls about missing cats, getting some drunk idiot giving me a massive lecture down the phone line on how 'Mutants are freaks, I hope you all die' or when there's a bunch of bloody schoolboys who keep running in to throw juvenile insults at me? I swear some of them think my hair's red _because_ I'm a mutant… and then there's the hate-mail to chuck out every morning. Of course that takes up my whole morning, I get the lunch break to relax in and watch Richter and Carosella try to out-idiot each other _every single day _and then it's back to the desk for more abuse and general wasting of time…"

Teresa finally ran out of breath and James took the chance to gather his thoughts and replace the various gadgets and accessories that had been knocked off his desk by the barely-repressed sonic waves. He toyed with a pen nervously as he tried to think of a suitable response. "Is there something bothering you Teresa?"

He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth, what kind of a stupid question was that? Luckily such immense idiocy appeared to have surprised Teresa beyond the point of speech and he made a hasty attempt to recover ground. "Today particularly I mean. Its not the first time you've gone on desk duties-" Teresa gave a short, scornful laugh. –"But it is the first time you've blown up like this. If there's anything I can do…"

"You can stick that stuck-up, arrogant, preening little tart behind the reception desk for a start," Teresa began.

"You mean Monet?"

"No, I mean Guido- Of course I mean Monet… assuming she has time between your seedy little trysts."

"Look, I don't know what you think is happening but I was just talking to Monet about a mission…"

"An _emission _more like… your flies are undone, by the way."

They weren't but the guilty way James looked down just confirmed Teresa's angry suspicions. "I knew it! I bloody knew it! Now I know why you insist on sticking me down in the reception, you knew I was the only one who would work it out and you didn't want to risk that happening, did you?"

"You're not _always _at reception," James cut in mid-rant, such a surprisingly bold move that Teresa seemed to be shocked out of her angry tirade. James stood up and looked her square in the eyes. He thought it was time to remind her exactly who was in charge, and more to the point who was paying her wages. He also strongly suspected, and with some justification, that Guido and Julio were eavesdropping on the discussion and hopefully they would catch on that his reprimand applied just as much to them as the fiery Irish girl currently on the receiving end. "I do it myself when I don't have all the other things I have to do, bills, cheques and official police warnings do not handle themselves. You think some would be tough guy on the phone is a pain to deal with? Try dealing with a pig-headed racist who is unfortunately the closest we've got to law enforcement."

"Sorry," Teresa muttered sullenly. "But I still don't see why Monet can't do it sometimes."

"She did, up to last month, and only stopped then because she couldn't exactly field phone calls whilst infiltrating Liebewitz's little scheme. Even Julio and Guido do their share, not often I admit but we need them to handle the little one-day jobs we don't need your particular skills for."

"Fine," Teresa was cowed by James' temper. His mood often changed quickly and unpredictably, particularly in times of stress or excitement, in this case she suspected provided by Monet. At this stage she could see the embers of anger smouldering behind his eyes, just waiting for something to fan them into the flames of an inferno that would dwarf even her own tantrum, which had quickly turned into embarrassment.

"Man, she got _burned_," a low voice could just be heard from outside the door.

"Well, let's leave it just between us," James said, seemingly oblivious. When Teresa looked at him in confusion he gave her a knowing smile and raised his voice. "Because if I thought that anyone else was listening in…"

The point was taken immediately and they both heard the hurried clatter of feet hurrying away and Julio scolding Guido and demanding he stopped 'lumbering like an ape.' James pressed a button on his desk and the fan started to twirl into life, blowing paperwork around the room like leaves in a gale. He glared at it, pressed it again and ran his fingers over the array of buttons. "Wrong one… ah, that's right." He pushed a second one and when he next spoke his voice was projected from a speaker in the corridor.

"Monet, could you come in here a moment please?"

A few moments later the telepath burst into the room with a smirk that barely faded as she saw that Teresa was still present. She addressed James directly, pointedly and rudely ignoring the redhead standing nearby. "Yes?"

"Can you take over at the reception please? It's been a while since your last duty and it's a nice quiet day, a good time to get back in the habit, right?"

"But what about-?"

"Now." The girl hurried out and James began gathering up scattered forms and memos pointedly. "I'm sure you can find something the guys can help you with…"

"I can probably come up with a few ideas," Teresa acknowledged. She also hurried out and shut the door behind her with a click. James waited a few seconds to be sure she was gone then pumped the air and did a few triumphant dance steps. That had showed the others who was in charge hadn't it? Oh yes, no-one would be questioning J. Maddox, esq. from now on. He sat back down and began trying to find order amongst the chaos that was his office. He was going to have to do something about that damn fan…

Monet sat behind the desk of the reception. Outwardly her face expressed boredom and an air of sophisticated languor as she checked her nails; she found that they were, of course, absolutely immaculate. How could they not be? They were hers. On the inside though, she was seething with rage. It was that Irish idiot with her ridiculous crush on Maddox stirring up trouble, she knew it was. The little bimbo thought she hid her feelings so well, and those macho idiots were no doubt none the wiser, but Monet was much smarter and more astute and had picked up on it instantly. The redhead was probably jealous that it was Monet not her who had been charged with ensnaring Liebewitz and was reduced to such petty sniping as this to gain a measure of revenge. Monet knew it was unthinkable that it could ever have been the other way around, but if it had been Cassidy on the mission, Monet would never stoop so low as to try and get revenge. The fact that she had come up with several score-evening schemes had merely been an intellectual exercise, that's all; besides, they happened to be elegant, imaginative and sure to leave her rival a broken mess, not this pathetically obvious vendetta.

Even as these thoughts passed through her mind, her expression remained serene and self-assured. As a young girl she had quickly learned the benefit of hiding her true emotions, and had practiced until she was sure not even a psychologist could discern her real thoughts and feelings. Watching the idiocy of Richter and Carosella and the hot-headed impulsiveness of Cassidy, she knew her control and poise set her above such emotive, rash amateurs. Maddox was closer to her own level, but not by much. After all, perfection was hard to achieve by anyone who was not Monet Yvette Clarisse Maria Therese St. Croix.

Suddenly, the door creaked as a woman walked in and looked over at Monet, who was leaning back in her chair with her long legs on the desk. The woman shuffled nervously across to Monet, who at least deigned to look at her new guest with a somewhat critical eye.

"Is this Cortex Investigation Agency?" The woman asked nervously. She had a thin, weak voice that was not improved by the nervous hitch every other word.

"Yes," Monet said bluntly. She was not in the mood to talk to such unpromising clients; that was what they had Teresa for. Well, that and the sonar powers, but mainly for the secretarial work, in Monet's opinion at least.

"I need your help," the woman explained. Monet rolled her eyes. Not only was the woman a neurotic, pathetic mess of a human being, she insisted on stating the obvious.

"It's yours," Monet confirmed. "_If _you can afford it, that is." She somehow doubted that strongly and did not bother even trying to keep the scorn out of her voice. Dumpy figure, clothes that had seen better decades, let alone days, and _what _was she thinking with that hair style? 'Drowned rat attached to scalp' was a look that not even Monet could pull off, not that she had any inclination to try. In saying that, it did seem to tie in with the woman's general appearance of a particularly shabby rodent.

"Can I at least talk to someone about it? I mean one of the detectives here," the woman ventured nervously. She did not know it but had just accidentally picked at a scab of a very raw wound. Monet was of course one of the operatives here, in fact probably the best of them all, not some airhead to be stuck answering cries for help from specimens like this.

"I _am _one of the detectives you stupid little-" She began, but her voice was indistinct compared to the deep rumble of speech from the doorway behind her.

"Certainly you can, come this way." The woman looked relieved, and it said a lot about Monet's demeanour that anyone could actually pleased to see the misshapen lump of a mutant that was Guido appear and talk to them. Guido turned to Monet. "The boss man's probably going to want to talk to her himself so if anyone else comes while you're just sitting here twiddling your thumbs, looking at the clock to see if it moves at all and generally getting bored through the sheer amount of inactivity all afternoon-"

"Shut up."

"-Then you're just going to have to face it. Sorry." 'Sorry' appeared to be Guido-ish for 'hahaha, let's all laugh at Monet' if the ever-so-slightly smug grin on his face was anything to go by. She studiously ignored him and he turned back to the woman with his best professional expression. "Follow me, Mrs…?"

"Miss," the woman corrected him nervously. "Mallory Brickman."

"Yes, well then Miss, uh, Brickman. I'll take you to see Mr Maddox, he's in charge here." He stood politely aside to let Miss Brickman through, but even so it was something of a tight squeeze. He paused to fire off one last taunt at the irritated Monet. "Have fun receptioning."

He was gone before she could come up with an appropriately biting, sharp response and left her glaring after him. He was definitely going to pay for that. She decided to think of appropriate punishment, and then threw that plan aside in favour of inappropriate, totally disproportionate and vindictive punishment instead. What else did she have to do for the next- she checked the clock and groaned- three _hours_?

James looked up as Guido ushered Brickman into the office. He performed the same cursory scan as Monet, though in rather less derisive and distinctly more professional terms. Clearly she was not particularly wealthy, and certainly did not appear to be a mutant herself. That would suggest that whatever case she wanted them to help with, at some stage she either suspected or knew of mutant involvement, as there seemed no other reason for her to choose the only openly mutant-staffed investigation agency over a number of human ones. Except of course the price, he added to himself wryly.

"Well then Miss Brickman, how can we help you?" He asked politely.

"I need your help finding someone," she explained. "Her name is Layla Miller, she's only eleven. She's been missing for a couple of days."

"Have you notified the police?" James asked. It was something of a sore point with him, but Cortex Investigations Agency was generally law-abiding except when absolutely necessary, and he did not want to cause problems with the police that weren't needed. "They're generally the ones who deal with these things."

"I have spoken to them, but they only said they'll look into it, apparently there are other disappearances and missing people they want to look for first," Brickman explained. "Besides, I don't think she would be very high on their priority list because she's… well…. She's a…" She was struggling with the words and Guido stepped in helpfully.

"Alien? Cyborg? Ghost trapped to this mortal realm by chains of emotion?"

"…Mutant," Brickman managed to say the word, but it went unnoticed by any of the investigators that her eyes flicked guiltily around the room as she said it, as if worried someone might overhear and despise her for saying it.

"Why is it never a cyborg?" Guido complained. "Just once it would be cool if we could-"

"Ignore my associate please, Miss Brickman, he's not totally house-trained yet," James cut in, prompting a glare from Guido and laughter from Julio and Teresa, who had entered when alerted by James. Brickman appeared to be finding her every prejudice about mutants justified, not only were they horribly malformed, they were all complete lunatics. She just felt sorry for that poor girl downstairs that they had made secretary, having to work with these types… no wonder she was in a bad mood earlier.

"Do you have a picture of Layla?" James went on. "What can you tell us about her powers? Anything you can tell us would be of great use to us in trying to find her."

"Yes… here," Brickman handed a photo across the table to James, who scanned it briefly then passed it around his colleagues. Each of them examined the photo, which showed a perky-looking young blonde girl. "Her powers are… I don't know what they are. She just knows… stuff."

"She knows stuff? Sort of like an encyclopaedia on legs?" Guido hazarded.

"No, private things, personal things that wouldn't be on record. Sometimes she predicts the future," Brickman explained. "It really disturbs the other children; I think that's why she ran away."

"Other children?" James asked. Brickman had not mentioned that, and he was glad it had come up. He had always found that children noticed things that adults would not, and maybe one of them could give them a clue as to where Layla had gone. "And you say she ran, rather than being kidnapped?"

"Yes, that's right, I run an orphanage," Brickman said. James tried to hide his frustration but noticed his team-mates behind her all rolling their eyes and making rude gestures. Trying to get useful facts out of Brickman was like predicting a flash-flood: you never saw it coming and only realised afterwards that it had happened. The analogy did fall down slightly when James considered the lack of property damage but he could see Guido was not far from the verge of correcting that.

"So you don't know who her parents were?" he asked.

"No, but I think they must have been mutants too, none of my other children are and it's not like a disease you can catch, is it?"

"What, like AIDS sort of thing?" Guido asked under his breath, clearly baiting for a rise from the human woman. James looked at him sternly and the big man sighed and shut his mouth.

"We'll certainly look into it," he assured her. "If you leave your details with our receptionist we'll contact you if anything comes up. There is also the question of our commission…"

"Well, I don't have very much, the orphanage barely runs at all without donations from other people," Brickman said.

"Look, let us just see what happens. If we find anything or we need help, we can discuss payment then," James decided. "Show her out, please Teresa." The Irish girl managed to wipe the annoyed expression off her face and replace it with a glassy, plastered-on smile that an air-hostess would think too cheesy.

"This way, Miss Brickman," she said. She showed the woman about and reappeared a few minutes later with a dark expression clouding her eyes. "God I hate those people so much sometimes! The thugs I can deal with, they hate us, we hate them, they attack us, we wipe the floor with them… it's simple. But people like her, criticising mutants and looking down on us for no reason… Some times I think Guido's got the right idea."

"If you mean the Guidomatic 2000, I have a sample model and I just need funding for marketing…"

"I meant punching things," Teresa sighed. She looked at James, who in turn examined his pressed-together fingers thoughtfully. She came to a sudden realisation. "That whole 'we'll see what we can do' thing wasn't just to get rid of her, was it? You actually intend to go looking for this Layla girl."

"We do need the money," James pointed out.

"What, the money that you just sent walking out the door?" Julio asked acerbically. "Assuming she does actually have any, she doesn't look Mrs Moneybags does she?"

"Which is why you are going to have a look around this orphanage of hers," James explained. "Check its all above board; I don't want to get into any trouble until we know for sure the Liebewitz thing's blown over."

"You don't think one of Liebewitz's little conspirators have something to do with the disappearance do you? I mean, they did try and capture mutants and force them to work…" Teresa suggested.

"She's a bit too young, but it's certainly worth looking into," James agreed. "Quite apart from which, rescuing a missing kid would be a great mutant PR boost, maybe it might even convince them to stop painting 'God loves all men, not mutants' on the windows every time we wash it off."

"What's up with that anyway?" Guido asked. "As if your everyday common or garden thug isn't enough trouble, now we've got some bible-bashing priest in on the fun as well."

"Nothing we can do about it really," James decided. "Layla Miller's our first priority now. Come on, let's see what we can find."


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER VI: Hey Jude**

Gambit found often himself at the centre of attention. "Hey you!", "Stop him!" or "He went that way!" or even "Oh, Remy! OH YES!" were phrases so commonly applied to him that he considered them unofficial aliases. On the other hand, it was more unusual for him to be the cause of debate and not even know why. The senior X-Men had been summoned by Xavier to the office where he had just finished his telepathic probes of the Cajun gambler. Much to Remy's chagrin however, very little of the consequent explanation and discussion appeared to focus on him; he was treated at best as a piece of scenery, by those X-Men who even bothered to look at him at all.

"... and so with my help, we have managed to find out who took the girl," Xavier concluded the tale. Present were Logan, Scott, Jean, Ororo and Hank McCoy. The other team-members had yet to be informed of recent events, though no doubt Kitty would be doing her very best to rectify that state of affairs. The gathered team looked at each other thoughtfully, with the exception of Logan, who merely glowered at Remy. Remy was not overly worried; he doubted the feral ex-weapon would do anything particularly violent without the permission of the Professor, which seemed unlikely to happen any time soon. On the other hand, the Canadian's relentless suspicion was getting on Remy's nerves. The fact that Logan had every right to distrust the former Acolyte was not much of a mitigating factor, in Remy's opinion. He had come in good faith and with the best of intentions and no inclination to trick or double-cross anyone involved; it was hardly his fault if no-one else believed him, was it?

"What makes you so sure that we can trust this guy?" Logan asked, predictably enough. "He smells suspicious to me- what's to say this isn't some plan of Magneto's?"

"Because I have seen it myself, through his eyes," the Professor said calmly. "And there is not a telepath on the planet that could alter his memories so well I wouldn't discover it. If you don't believe him, then believe me."

"Alright," said Logan, but the scowl remained on his face. He certainly did not trust the Cajun at all, and although he had much more faith in his old friend and mentor, he had not discarded the possibility that this was part of a larger scheme. It was possible that the 'true story' being spun by the thief was merely part of a much wider conspiracy to draw the X-Men into a broader, darker agenda that not even Remy himself knew about. Logan knew that if he voiced these thoughts aloud, the others would think he was being even more paranoid than usual, and that the odds of such events were minimal. He also knew that neither of these facts meant that he was necessarily wrong.

"Can't you just find Layla telepathically?" Scott asked the Professor. He suspected that it was such an obvious step that it had already been taken or found untenable before he even asked, but it was against his nature to leave any option unexplored. The Professor frowned thoughtfully.

"I have tried, but I could not find her. I will use Cerebro but there are ways around such things, and I suspect the kidnapper either knows or suspects telepathic means of detection and will be appropriately vigilant against them," he said.

"What about this Li? Or Cimetta?" Scott pressed. He did not doubt his leader's word; he was only expanding and adjusting his knowledge and his options.

"It's hard to locate them based merely on a surname, there could be many who share it," the Professor explained. "If I had a full name then I could use that, or even a physical description. Unfortunately, they were either clever or lucky enough to find Remy in too bad a condition to provide one."

"I could see what I can find," Hank offered. "See if I can find anything about anyone with those names who may be involved with this kind of thing."

"Good idea," Xavier agreed. "I was going to suggest Logan follows Remy to where the incident occurred, maybe he can pick up the trail from there."

"Oh good- I can't wait," Remy said sarcastically, not exactly relishing the prospect of hours in the company of the ferocious Canadian. Logan appeared to be having similar thoughts.

"Feeling's mutual Cajun," he growled. "But who knows what happened to that kid?"

Remy would have smirked and made a crack about Logan's inner cuddly bear, but he valued his limbs too much, although he did store it for future reference. Besides, he felt the same way, although maybe from a different direction. He had grown quite attached to Layla in their brief acquaintance, and he had no more wish than Logan to see harm come to her for any longer time than could be avoided. Xavier seemed if not pleased, then at least satisfied with their mutual acceptance of the other's company, but to the surprise of the others he was not yet finished with his suggestions.

"I would also suggest Scott and Jean inform the others of the situation. Maybe we can find people who saw or heard something about what happened to Layla, or who Li or Cimetta are and how they're involved."

"I hate to sound cynical but I can't help thinking known mutants walking through Bayville looking for missing children may not do our reputation a lot of good," Jean pointed out. "Not many people will be inclined to help us, even if they don't automatically assume we kidnapped her in the first place."

"I agree," said Xavier, rather surprisingly. "But I think that young Miss Miller takes precedence in this situation, we need to try and find her as soon as possible."

"What about friends and family? Shouldn't we tell them? Maybe they even know something," suggested Scott.

"I'll see what I can find," Hank interjected. "But if we have something to tell them when we find them it can only be advantageous."

"The petite didn't really seem the family type," Remy put in. "She seemed pretty fine with walking around on her own."

"We'll worry about that when we get there," Xavier concluded. "Right now we had better try and find out what happened to Layla Miller."

At the same time, and in the same mansion, a question of the same importance was being addressed by a young mutant. Jamie Madrox was steeling himself to give what was quite possibly the single most important speech of his young life so far. He took a deep breath and launched into the speech before his nerve broke.

"Good afternoon, Rahne, I was just thinking... no that's terrible... Hey Rahne, how about you and me... no, that's even worse... Hi Rahney, what's up? Want to make out? ... oh no, this is getting even terribler than before..." He kicked a wall in frustration and a dupe popped into life beside him. It was identical in appearance but the formal posture and educated, lecturing tone of its voice suggested it was primarily his more academic thoughts given form.

"There is not in fact any such word as 'terribler,'" the dupe informed him snootily, waggling a dismissive finger. "What you were actually should have said was 'more terrible', or a similar word with more appropriate syntax, for example 'worse'."

"Oh shut up," the real Jamie snapped. He was not in the mood to be lectured by anyone, least of all himself. He reached out to try and reabsorb the dupe but it dodged aside and his hand slapped against the wall instead. With his emotions at a high and his concentration proportionately lower, the action was enough to create another dupe, the first action of which was to slick back his hair and gives the other two Jamies a smirk.

"God you two are pathetic," it announced. "Rahne's never going to go for either of you two when there's a fine specimen of a man like me around."

"Specimen is not strictly an accurate term you could apply in that sentence," Academic-Jamie began. "Although there is nothing that is inherently-"

"Shut up," the other Jamies growled in synchrony. Hitting his oratorical stride, this time Academic-Jamie was too slow to dodge and was absorbed back into the genuine Jamies' body with an uncomfortable squelch that made the remaining dupe wince, then back-pedal furiously as the original Jamie advanced on him with a glint in his eye. Jamie was only in trouble because his libido and emotions were beginning to run free, he did not intend for that to become a literal state of affairs. The libido-Jamie gabbled furiously as he waved his hands in an attempt to stave off his rapidly approaching re-absorption.

"Hey, listen, listen, I can help me! I mean us! I mean you! I mean- oh you know what I mean! I can help here!"

Jamie paused with his hand inches from the cornered dupe's forehead. He assumed the dupe was referring to the knowledge and aspects of Jamie's personality that it embodied that it could use to help him. Of course if he reabsorbed it then he would still have all that information anyway... although it may take him a while to find it in his literally fractured psyche. He did not lower his hand but did relax slightly. He may as well give himself, well, his _other _self, time to talk. There was nothing to stop him just sucking him up if things did not work out.

"Talk fast," he growled.

"Okay, listen you're a pretty insecure guy aren't you?" the dupe said. "But somewhere within you is a confident, smooth-talking ladies man, right? But now it's not within you, it's, err, without you, cause, well, it's me. Now I can smooth talk Rahne and win her heart..."

"And in return you want what?" Jamie demanded. It was not the first time a dupe had tried to bargain a way to remain free and individual, in fact these days more of them did it than didn't. He had wondered at the time if this was an indication of some psychological problem blossoming on top of all the others adolescent hormones piled onto growing boys, but in the end decided just to absorb them again regardless. Now for the first time he considered actually cutting a deal, which said a lot about how much he wanted his courting of Rahne Sinclair to work out successfully.

"A shot at one of the other girls," the dupe said immediately. That, Jamie thought, just about said it all. He was sixteen, well very nearly anyway, and like many boys of that age went through the phase wherein any girls of appropriate age and even passing good looks made his body and thoughts do very embarrassing things. Tabby, Jubilee, Amara, heck even Kitty and Rogue and Jean had all had a moment as the focus of his adoration. On one memorable occasion, he had even woken up wondering why it had been Ms Monroe in his dreams, she was old, beautiful but... he focussed and the thoughts wafted away.

"Not a chance," he told Libido-Jamie. "Even if you _do _get Rahne to agree, as soon as she sees me with one of the others it will all be gone."

"But it won't be you."

"Yes, but what are the odds of her believing that? Besides, the others would all laugh at me anyway."

"Okay, fine. Just don't reabsorb me yet, let me show you I can do it and we can bargain from there okay?" The libido-dupe suggested. Jamie thought about it and decided it seemed fair. There was nothing to stop him just reabsorbing the dupe in any case, however it went with Rahne.

"Okay. So how do you think I can do it?"

Libido-Jamie smiled and sat down, motioning for the real Jamie to follow suit. "Hey dude- don't be afraid, you were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, you'll start to make things better..."

That sounded very familiar for some reason and as Jamie drummed his fingers in thought, another dupe popped into existence. This Jamie had spiked hair and a permanent lop-sided, cocky-looking grin.

"'Hey Jude'? Now that is a song man! Let me get my guitar, serenade her for a bit and she's bound toooo-" He never finished the sentence as he was absorbed again. Jamie glared at his dupe, but as living embodiment of his normally hidden confidence and self-assurance, the dupe was not abashed in the slightest.

"Okay, he- you, whatever- got me. But the point stands. You've got to talk to her, make her feel special, show her you mean what you say, okay? Come on, practice on me, tell me what makes Rahne so special."

"I don't know," Jamie admitted. He thought about it a bit. "It's just I've always thought she was pretty, but she's kind and thoughtful, she's always looked out for me. We always hang out together and whenever we do I always feel like somehow I'm in a better place..."

"Plus, she has a nice rack," agreed Libido-Jamie. "A bit small for some guys' tastes, but... hey, stop looking at me like that! I'm you remember? I know you think it, because I do."

"Well, yes, but-"

"Look man, just tell her all that," Libido-Jamie said. He frowned thoughtfully. "Okay, maybe leave out the bit about her rack, that probably wouldn't go down so well. But the rest of it, man, she'll love that stuff."

"You really think this will work?" Jamie asked doubtfully.

"Hell yeah I do," confirmed the dupe. "Plus, if you don't ask her you're always going to be wondering if you should have done, and what would have happened. If it really goes wrong just tell her it was a dupe."

"Yeah," Jamie said, then more confidently. "_Yeah _- I will. I'm going to do this, man."

"Go get her, Jamie!" The dupe encouraged him. Jamie walked out of the room, the dupe tagging along behind. Jamie knew that Rahne would almost always be found in a room reading her bible when there was nothing else scheduled. The others always teased her about her devout beliefs and practices but she would always just smile and tell them she'd remind them about it on Judgement Day. Jamie was one of the few who didn't taunt her on the matter. Due to the nature of his powers and the side-effects, he often found himself literally in two minds about things, in fact more than once he'd found himself wishing it was only _two _minds he was torn between. This had taught him added respect and admiration for anyone who managed to hold onto a set of views and beliefs so strongly, and when that person was as lovely and gentle and kind as Rahne, it was only improved. Plus, she really was very pretty. He found her in a room sitting curled up in a ball in a chair, a pose she attributed to her ever-present animal instincts. That was also presumably what had prompted her to go barefoot, and he found himself staring at her feet. They were so dainty and delicate; they seemed to him to be the most attractive feet he had ever seen. And _that _seemed the weirdest thing he had ever thought. Why on earth was he attracted to _feet_? Even pretty, nimble feet like- hey wait, he was doing it again! He took a deep breath and made his way across the room towards her. In a lucky chance, none of the other New Mutants were present, nor were the X-Men.

"Oh, hi Rahne," he began carefully. She looked up and smiled at him and his stomach back-flipped.

"Hi Jamie," she said happily. "The others aren't around; I don't know where they are."

"Actually, it was you I was looking for," he admitted.

"Oh aye? What can I do for you?" she asked.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out, I was thinking maybe going into town, I heard Scott saying the X-Men have to go in anyway."

"Sure," she said. "I reckon the others would probably be up for a visit too."

"Actually," Jamie began the most important, dreaded, wonderful sentence of his life so far. "I was thinking just you and me."

Her eyes narrowed but her expression and tone were playful as she analysed the repercussions of the sentence.

"Jamie Madrox- are you asking me on a date?" she asked. Jamie could not work out whether the tone of her voice was amused, disapproving, agreeable, excited or anything.

"Well, I was actually, I mean, that is to say, in a manner of speaking sort of thing... yes," he admitted. It was only a few seconds before she next spoke but to Jamie it seemed you could have fitted several Ice Ages into the length of time.

"I can't think of anything I'd like better," she said. Her smile was still present but had taken on undertones of happiness, excitement but also more than a little nervousness. Jamie smiled back at her and for a few moments they beamed happily at one another before both burst into happy laughter.

"Great," he said. "Look I need to check it out with the Professor so shall we meet outside in a few minutes?"

"Okay, yeah, that sounds good," Rahne agreed. She left to go and find some more appropriate clothing for a date and Jamie beckoned the dupe, who had been hiding behind the door, over to him.

"You wanted a few more hours freedom didn't you?"He asked. "Okay, you've got them. You can stay here and be me, the _real _me for a while, try and cover my back."

"Got it," Libido-Jamie agreed.

"Great. I'm off to find the Professor," real Jamie said, scurrying happily from the room.

_Two hours later_

Jamie was not sure how he had managed to persuade Professor Xavier to go through with this, or more specifically, let Jamie go through with it. It was not the first time Jamie had tried to earn a bit of independence, but on previous occasions, eight times out of ten the Professor would remind him he was the youngest, most inexperienced and by implication if not outright statement, the most vulnerable of the Institute occupants, seeming ignoring the fact that it was Xavier's own reluctance to let Jamie take part in the same training exercises as the other New Mutants that had lead to the inexperience in the first place. The other times, Xavier would repeat a solemn reminder that he and Jamies' parents 'are old friends, and I don't think they would be happy if I let you go around on your own,' a litany Jamie had heard so many times he could repeat it in synchrony with the Professor from memory. In fairness it made sense... if he had been about eight. He was fifteen though, Scott, Jean and the others were already budding X-Men by that time so what was so different about Jamie? This time though the Professor had appeared to be distracted and lost in thought, and Jamie did not think the telepath was actually paying much attention to his request and was merely agreeing to get the young multiplier out of his way. That suited Jamie just fine, and had lead to his current situation; sitting outside a quaint-looking coffee-shop, opposite Rahne, basking in her presence and feeling ten feet taller every time she smiled at him. He had thought about taking her hand but chickened out. It was only a first date after all, and he didn't want to risk moving too far too quickly. Currently he was regaling Rahne with stories about his many, many accidents in his role as Doctor McCoy's lab assistant.

"... and then the beaker blows up, I mean literally blows up and stuff goes all over Mr McCoy! He just goes 'oh my stars and garters' and is all like 'why are you laughing Jamie?' but I'm trying to think of a way to tell him his fur's gone green..."

Rahne laughed but it trickled away as a shadow fell across the table.

"Aww, young love," a deep voice said cheerfully. Jamie looked up at the newcomer and found himself staring at the man's abdomen, so looked up even further, but that only got him up to the man's chest, so Jamie had to crank his neck back to finally make out the face of the new arrival. The man had to be one of the biggest men Jamie had ever seen, taller than the Juggernaut and, impossibly, even broader and more muscular.

"God, I can't take you anywhere," another voice complained. Another person stepped out from behind the giant, a lean, dark man with an ironic expression and a faint Mexican accent. "I'm sorry about that and about disturbing you, it's just me and my friend here were wondering if you can help us with something?"

"Umm... I certainly hope so," Jamie said sincerely. He definitely didn't want to disappoint or annoy the big guy, although he certainly couldn't think of anything someone that big and strong would need help with. The dark-haired man reached into an inside pocket of his long coat and pulled out a photocopied picture which he passed to Jamie and Rahne. It showed a girl with an inquisitive expression and blonde hair in pigtails. She was even younger than Jamie and Rahne; she didn't look any older than maybe eleven or twelve.

"This is Layla Miller," the man explained. "She's gone missing and we're trying to find her."

"No, I'm afraid I can't help," Jamie said apologetically. "I've only been in town a little while."

"Me too," agreed Rahne. She made to hand the picture back to the man but he waved it away.

"Keep it, we have plenty of others. Maybe you can show it to your friends in case they can help," he suggested.

"Err... okay..." Jamie said uncertainly. It seemed a bit unorthodox to him but he wasn't going to risk irritating the big guy if he could help it.

"You got a problem _we _can help you with?" A familiar voice interrupted from behind them. Even though the massive man's bulk hid the newcomer's face Jamie recognised the familiar confident tones of Scott Summers. The huge man turned around and as the movement revealed Scott standing there, Jamie groaned. Not only was Scott present, so were the other members of the senior team. Bobby and Kitty quailed slightly as they realised just how big the man was, but Scott and Jean stood their ground fearlessly, but this seemed to amuse the man more than anything.

"No, we were just leaving," the Mexican man put in. He nodded to the big guy and the pair moved off. Scott watched them go until they vanished around the corner, and then looked inquisitively at Jean, who scanned briefly with her telepathy. Clearly they didn't trust the strange pair. Scott turned back to Jamie and Rahne.

"Are you guys okay? They didn't give you any trouble did they?"

"We're fine," Jamie muttered mutinously. He did not like the implication that he was unable to look out for himself, or for Rahne, and that Scott still felt it was his duty to step in at any sign of possible trouble. All of the X-Men did it at some stage, forgetting he was no younger than most of them had been when they first joined the X-Men.

"Believe it or not we are actually able to take care of ourselves," barked Rahne, and it was an actual bark, a legacy of the ever-present wolf that surfaced whenever her emotions ran high. Part of her irritation was the fact that she too was annoyed by the constant babying of the senior team, but part of it was also down to the fact that she had been enjoying time alone with Jamie until the X-Men barged in. As if she didn't have enough to be annoyed about she could see the curious expression on Kitty's face and knew that within hours her budding relationship with Jamie would be the talk of the whole Institute. "What are you guys doing here anyway?"

"Oh... just doing the Professor a favour," Scott dismissed the question lightly. As a rule he avoided discussing missions with the New Mutants unless specifically instructed otherwise, as he generally saw no reason they needed to know, or for that matter no way they could particularly help. He did not look like taking the matter any further but Jamie and Rahne weren't fooled, and wouldn't have been even if Rahne hadn't literally been able to smell something suspicious; it was very rare to see the entire team out in action, and although they may be in civilian clothing instead of costume, there was no mistaking their poised, alert stances: they were definitely on a mission of some kind.

"In that case I guess we'll see you later," Jamie said.

"Actually, what are you two doing here anyway?" Scott asked. "I mean the Professor never-"

"It doesn't actually affect the mission though does it?" Jean cut in quickly, and for once Jamie felt gratitude towards the often annoyingly-fussy, interfering redhead. Either through her powers or being slightly more emotionally astute than Scott (although that was not saying an awful lot) she had apparently guessed the reason for the two younger mutants' presence and taken mercy on them.

"Wha-? I mean, yes, that's right. We'd better get on with it," Scott agreed. The X-Men trooped away again, but he suddenly turned back to Jamie and Rahne just as they were about to relax in relief now that that little ordeal was over. "What were those guys saying?"

Jamie opened his mouth to reply but Rahne appeared to guess what he was about to say and hurriedly filled in a much more polite, and accurate for that matter, answer to the question.

"Oh, just asking about some girl, Layla Miller I think he said," she said. She kept her tone brusque in the vague hope that it would register with the visored field-leader and prompt his quick exit, but both she and Jamie noticed the brief look of consternation that passed across his face before he managed to regain his habitual control and stern visage.

"Really..." he mused. "You'd better go back to the Institute before it gets too late."

"Yes sir," said Jamie, adding under his breath as Scott hurried away, "No sir, three bags full sir that you can shove right up your-" He noticed the upset expression Rahne was wearing and cut himself off. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you!"

"It's not you, it's him, and those other two. I was really enjoying today until they all showed up," Rahne assured him.

"You... were?"

"I was," Rahne confirmed. She slowly reached out with a hesitant hand that found Jamie's own and shyly wrapped her fingers around his. Jamie felt a warm glow start at the point of contact and spread out and along his arm until his entire body felt like it was pleasantly warm and his heart was thudding at twice its normal rate.

"He's right though, we probably should be going back," he said reluctantly.

"I suppose you're right," Rahne conceded. She gave him a mischievous little grin that he would never have associated with the sweet, conscientious Rahne Sinclair. "But let's not hurry, eh?"

He had to think about it for a few seconds before he worked out what she was implying and felt his ears burn and his face heat as he blushed. He only hoped it didn't show. She seemed too happy to worry about minor details like that though as they wandered away hand in hand, totally unaware of the two sets of eyes watching them.

"You think they know something?" Guido asked suspiciously.

"No," Julio disagreed. "But they're definitely going to have to be watched, we don't need them or those other guys interfering."

"You mean that guy with red shades? I'd like to see him try," Guido muttered, cracking his knuckles with a sound so like a growl of thunder several passers-by spontaneously looked skyward. Julio grinned at his friend's belligerence but felt duty-bound to correct a certain misapprehension.

"I wouldn't be so quick to do that if I were you- that 'guy with red shades' was none other than Scott Summers."

Guido looked blank so Julio tried again.

"As in Cyclops."

Nothing.

"As in the leader of the X-Men."

Guido looked like he understood then shook his head shamefully.

"Do you ever watch the news?" Julio demanded. "Or is it just the kids' channels? On second thoughts, don't answer that, otherwise I will feel obliged to deny having ever met you."

"Wizards of Waverly Place is a modern-day classic," Guido protested.

"It's crap, it's all crap," Julio countered, but did not want to get drawn into a debate about the quality of kids TV these days and hurried on with the point he'd been about to make before he got side-tracked. "The point is, you remember those kids who got attacked by giant robots and revealed the existence of mutants to the world?"

"Oh yeah!" Guido chuckled. "Sucks to be them, right?"

"Well, that was the X-Men. Those guys who just chased us off were also the X-Men, so if you could avoid getting into a fight with them I would be very grateful."

"Fine," sulked Guido. Julio turned and watched as the last of the X-Men, the one called Shadowcat, disappeared out of sight, but he couldn't help overhearing his colleague's rebellious muttering: "I still say they aren't so tough, we could take them easily."

"I think James would prefer it if it didn't come to a fight," Julio said. "Come on, we may as well head back to the base and see if the others have picked up anything."

In an alleyway not so very far away, two figures were lurking, but far from eavesdropping on anyone, this pair was more concerned with a bit of investigative work. Remy looked around and then knelt to pick up a fallen card from his previous scuffle.

"I told you this was the place," he said smugly. Logan ignored him and sniffed the air. His unbelievable sense of smell came into play and within seconds he had as good a picture of the earlier events here as if he'd witnessed the fight himself.

"Two cars," he said. "One cheap, quite old and battered, probably a van to judge by the amount of oil it's spilled. Maybe half a dozen people inside, all human. One smells familiar... it's that Matthews kid!"

"That would be the guys who first attacked me," confirmed Remy. He was crouching further in the alley. "Look, you can see blood and bits of my staff where I held them off."

"Bully for you, Cajun," Logan growled. "But it's the second vehicle I'm concerned with, expensive, got a good motor. Two people got out, but three went back in. Third one smells female, very young..."

"Layla!" Remy said immediately. "Where'd they go, ami? I've got words to say to those jerks..."

"Hold up Cajun, I'm still getting traces," Logan cut him off brusquely. "Let's see, the two guys are both mutants, one's a shapeshifter of some sort, the other must have some kind of bone armour to judge by the smell- bit like Daniels."

Remy would never admit it of course but he was actually very impressed by the power of Logan's senses and the deductive prowess he was displaying. "Yeah, but where do we go from here, Logan? Can you track them?"

Logan ran a little way down the street, pausing every couple of yards to smell the air. "I can track them to the junction, but then their path crosses with every other car that goes down this way," he admitted reluctantly. "We'll have to head back to the Institute for now."

"But we haven't even found out anything new!" Remy protested.

"Sure we did. The guy's horns must be the ones I smelt, that makes Cimetta the shapeshifter. We tell Chuck that and I guarantee you he'll find the son of a bitch. I know the scent of Layla now too, if I get so much of a hint of it anywhere now I'll be able to find her. Besides, we couldn't do anything anyway until we tell the others what we know."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get on back," Remy said urgently. He hurried away with Logan following more thoughtfully. This whole think stank- literally- of a professional job, not some random hostage snatching. Whoever was after Layla Miller knew exactly what they were doing- and that did not bode well.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: If you recognise it from somewhere else, that's because you've seen it before and it doesn't belong to me. Credit and rights all belong to original owners and creators, the only thing I get is the reviews... [Hint hint.]**

**CHAPTER VII: Questions and Answers?**

_Cortex Investigations Headquarters_

"Right, time to work out what we've got and where to go," James said decisively. "Guido, Julio, what have you got for us?"

"We got two words for you," Guido said. "Jack, and Shi-"

"Not a lot, to be honest," Julio cut in quickly. Though he could sympathise with his team-mate's frustration, heck, he even shared it, he felt now was not the time to let that frustration boil over. The case was not going well, that much was true, but they'd gone through this situation before and generally avoided falling out with each other. If they broke that rule now, Guido's powers and sheer bulk would probably save him dramatic harm. Julio on the other hand would probably end up as a strangely-shaped stain on the wall, a fate he'd prefer to avoid if possible. "She has apparently been missing for several days but no-one appears to have seen her. I hate to be the one to say this but we could be looking at a pro grab here."

"Dammit," James growled. 'Grabs' were what they called kidnaps, and they were normally some of the hardest cases to solve. Many kidnaps were premeditated and the abductees chosen carefully to make a point or to draw the attention of a particular person or organisation. In the latter case particularly the abducted individual was rarely seen until their captors released a statement to their target audience or via the press. "Please tell me you've got better news, Terry."

"Well there is some good news," she confirmed. "We've been tipped off there's someone in the know. Unfortunately there's bad news too- this mysterious person appears to have vanished as well."

"This just gets better and better," James moaned. "What about a name? A previous address?"

"This guy's only known as Tar Baby, previous address wherever he can sleep without some thug kicking his head in," Teresa said. "I've checked all the normal places- the back alleys, the shelters- but there's no sign of him so far."

"That has got to be the least useful source of all time," Guido commented. "Not only do we not know how much this guy knows, we've got no way of finding out either."

"At least I've got anything at all," Teresa fired back. Guido opened his mouth to reply scathingly but James stepped in to cut the budding argument short before it spiralled out of control.

"Arguing's not going to help us out here," he said sharply. "We've got to try and find the positives here."

"Lucky you have me then," Monet said smugly. The others glared at her but she put it down to jealousy, which was a natural reaction for most people when confronted by her intelligence and beauty. The fact that she had succeeded where they had failed was not surprising but it probably didn't boost her popularity at all. Let them glower resentfully; it wouldn't hurt her in the slightest.

"Because-?" James prompted her. She paused to compose herself and made her report.

"I went to the mutant quarter," she began. 'Mutant Quarter' was the area of downtown Bayville where ousted mutants rejected from polite society appeared to congregate, drawn by mutual sympathy and understanding. "In particular the pleasure district-"

"Home from home for you," Teresa muttered but the interruption was ignored.

"-as the girls there often hear things from their... clients. One of them in particular claims a Vincente Cimetta was talking about a kidnapping. No idea if it's Layla he was talking about but it's clearly the same line of work so if it wasn't him then he might know who it was."

"Pretty good work," James congratulated Monet. "I've been calling a couple of friends myself, Jess will keep her ears open and Bishop's said he'll let us know if the cops turn anything up."

"That'll be the day," Guido muttered. "Jess might come up with the goods though."

"I hope so," James agreed. Jess' full name was Jessica Jones, she was a private eye in a similar way to themselves but she tended to run smaller cases that required a more personal touch. She also had an uncanny tendency to pick cases that ended up with violent resolutions, although so far had avoided harm.

"There is one other thing..." Julio said slowly. He had spoken to Guido about their encounter with the X-Men earlier, and whether to mention it to the others. Guido was of the opinion it was almost certainly a chance encounter and a case of mistaken intentions, and Julio tended to agree; anyone seeing Guido and his muscular frame would be forgiven for thinking the worst. On the other hand, the X-Men were pretty famous, or rather infamous, and theirs was not the kind of attention any of the investigators were keen to draw. "We were quizzing some kid and his girlfriend when the X-Men decided to stick their noses into our business."

"You sure it was them? This doesn't seem the kind of thing they'd get involved in," James pointed out.

"Definitely them," Julio confirmed. "Don't think they had any particular interest in us though, just somehow came to the conclusion me and Guido were strong-arming the kid for some reason. He might've been one of those younger ones at that school of theirs."

"Damn, damn, damn," James muttered. It was unlikely that the X-Men would have anything to do with the case; in fact he doubted they would even care about some missing girl when they normally concerned themselves with causing massive property damage in self-righteous crusades that turned the public against mutants every time. On the other hand they now knew Guido and Julio at least and probably suspected them of no good. That meant that should there be even a chance encounter between the teams then things could get messy. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. We'd better focus on the case and handle the X-Men if or when we next cross paths. For now our next stage should be questioning Monet's new friend- if you could go and get her please?"

"I already have," Monet said complacently. "I thought a night here with some decent food would make her more willing to talk nicely."

"Plus it's good to have someone who sees things the same way to talk to right?" Teresa suggested.

"What are you suggesting?" Monet snapped. James cut in quickly.

"Monet, go get the girl please. Teresa, play nice- this is just about the only lead we've got so far so I don't need you jeopardising it, got it?"

"Alright, alright, just a joke," Teresa said huffily. "I wouldn't really compare some street whore to Monet- it's not their fault they ended up doing that job."

"Pathetic," Monet said, apparently to her immaculately manicured fingernails. The three male members of the team all looked at each other in confusion and trepidation. Mutant women could be just as baffling and unpredictable as their human counterparts, only the powers they possessed meant the situation could rapidly spin out of control. Well, more than usual at least.

"That's enough- both of you," James snapped. "Monet, go fetch this girl you found. Teresa you stay here and keep your pretty little lips shut. I don't know why you and Monet keep falling out and to be honest I don't care, I'm telling you it stops now. Is that clear?"

"She started- I mean, yes, clear as mud, glorious leader."

"Good." James looked like he was about to say more when the door swung open and Monet re-entered, followed by a shorter, thinner figure with a watchful air and a pose that summed up the old adage 'fight or flight.'

"Gentlemen, this is Stacy," Monet announced. She turned to the mutant girl. "The guy in the long coat is James, the big ape over there is Guido, the tall one's Julio and the redhead is Teresa. She's Irish- but don't worry, it's not infectious."

Stacy turned out to be a dark-haired girl of about average height but noticeably underweight and underfed-looking, hardly surprising given her job and the conditions she... worked in. She showed none of the wasting, withered effects of a drug addiction although her skin may have hidden any such ravages, as it was dark pink, almost magenta, and in the harsh light of the room was revealed to have a scaly-looking texture, which formed into ridges on her cheeks and temples. Guido and James thought that her clientele must be rather specialised and selective, although Julio found her bizarre appearance rather alluring. On the other hand, there were very few things he did not find attractive to a greater or lesser extent, particularly after a drink or seven.

"Hello, Miss-?" James prompted in an attempt to learn surname.

"X," Stacy said. James shrugged, if that was the name she wanted to go by then who was he to suggest otherwise? He carried on with the questioning, trying to keep a friendly, warm air. He could not help a slight distaste for the industry Stacy worked in, or the people who used the services it provided, but it was almost certain she did not do her work by choice and would be unfair to particularly hold it against her. Besides, her information was the closest thing they had to a lead, there was no point jeopardising that with rudeness. "But I prefer to go by Stacy."

"Okay... Stacy... I'm sure Ms St. Croix explained the situation to you and how you can help us," he went on.

"It's not so much the how as the why I'm worried about," Stacy interrupted him. The rude intervention and brusque tone prompted much surprise and disdain from the assembled investigators. She seemed to sense that she had caused offence, for when she explained further she had a much more placatory tone of voice. "I could be making money right now, and besides, if people know I've been here they're going to avoid me, they'll think I'm a snitch. I'm not going to risk that just to help you guys out of the goodness of my heart."

"That's fair enough," conceded James. "Rest assured we will pay you for your time."

"We will?" Teresa repeated, surprised, then when the others glared at her repeated in a much more decisive voice, "I mean, yes of course we will."

"And one of the benefits of our powers is that there are plenty of ways we can let you out of here that don't involve the front door. If you don't want people knowing you were here we can make sure they don't," James assured her. She seemed convinced and relaxed slightly.

"Good. Well, what can I help you with?"

"We're investigating the disappearance of a Layla Miller, and you told Ms St. Croix you have information about who was responsible. Anything you can tell us would be very useful."

"Well, I don't know really know many names, but I was, uh, approached by a client a while back who was talking about a kidnap job. I hear things, we all do, and this is the only rumour going about. I reckon it's the one you guys are after."

"Let's hope so," James agreed. "What can you tell us about your, err, client? If we do have a... discussion with him we won't mention you at all, so don't worry about that."

"I don't know his name," Stacy admitted. "I can't really afford to too curious in my line of work, my clients tend to be the kind who express their annoyance rather... physically. But he was a pretty odd looking guy, I'm sure if you lot asked around you could find him."

"Oh, we would," James promised darkly. "You can bet on that. So what makes this guy so distinctive?"

"He's a big guy, nearly as big as your friend there," she began, gesturing towards Guido. "He had these short horns on his forehead and when he spoke his teeth were really sharp.

"You got all this, Monet?" James asked. The beautiful telepath looked slightly offended he'd even asked.

"Of course I have, my memory is faultless," she pointed out.

"Just checking," James said wearily. "Okay, can you remember the name this guy with horns said, or anything else about them we can use?"

"The horned guy said something about a job for someone called Mr Negative," Stacy replied. "I think it's the kidnapping he meant, but I don't really know."

"Mr Negative..." James repeated pensively, but the name did not seem to prompt any recollections. He looked at the others. "That name mean anything to you?"

The others shook their heads except Julio, who seemed to be grappling with a half-memory like a wriggling rat struggling to get away. Suddenly he remembered where he had heard the name before.

"Those guys who did the museum robbery were meant to be working for him," he said. "He's meant to be the latest guy to try and set himself up as Mr Big round these parts. He's pretty small scale so far, that's probably why we don't know much about him yet."

"Which doesn't really help us much," pointed out James. "Still, it's something to go on anyway; at least we have a name. Is there anything else you can tell us?" This question was addressed to Stacy, who thought carefully but shook her head.

"Not that I can think of right away..." That was a sentence with a hook on the end, angling for further assistance. James saw no reason not to oblige, the girl had proved pretty helpful so far and besides there was a chance she was not bluffing and there was more she could recall given time. He turned to Julio.

"Can you show Stacy to one of the spare rooms? Make sure it's one of the comfortable ones," he instructed. The 'spare rooms' were maintained by the detective firm in case they had a witness they needed to protect or prisoners kept overnight. Julio nodded and turned to Stacy.

"If you'd follow me...?" He suggested. She nodded and followed him from the room. The others formed a circle to discuss these latest developments.

"So what do we think?" James threw the debate open to his colleagues. Teresa was the first one to speak.

"We don't have names but we might be able to find the purple guy and the one with horns, maybe they can tell us more," she suggested. "We can also try to find out a bit more about this Mr Negative guy."

"I agree," Monet said. There was a loud crash as Guido toppled off his chair in shock but the others ignored him. "Those descriptions can't fit many people, plus if Mr Negative really is this up and coming would be crime lord there's going to be word on the street we can pick up."

Guido managed to haul himself back into his seat and smooth his topknot into place, trying to convey that the whole embarrassing debacle had never taken place. On the other hand, he had a distinctly doubtful expression on his face, which James picked up on right away.

"You disagree?" He asked.

"What? Oh no. No, no, nothing like that," Guido assured him. "It's just that, well, of all the people you could have sent to accompany the prostitute back to her cell you had to chose Julio, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah... and?"

"Remember when he offered that girl we were sheltering his 'personal protection'?" Guido prompted. There was a brief moment as this sank in then one by one the faces of his team-mates fell like so many dominoes. Teresa tried laughing it off but even her rich Irish brogue could make it convincing.

"Oh, come on, Guido, not even Julio would be that stupid!"

"Or that time he spent all night 'investigating' the young widow's husband's mysterious death?" Guido went on mercilessly.

"Okay, so he _would _be that stupid, but surely he learnt his lesson when the husband turned out not to be dead?" James said hopefully. Guido looked sceptical.

"Possibly... but it's not going to be his head he's thinking with, is it?"

"We'd better go after him," Monet suggested. "You might be wrong, after all."

"On the other hand, I'm almost certainly right," Guido countered. "_Coitus interruptus_ when Julio's involved would scar me for life."

"You know what? I think he can handle this alone," James said decisively.

"I think she'll be the one doing the handling," Guido could not resist the dirty joke, but regretted it when faced by the glares of his team-mates. "What?"

Further down the corridor Julio was finding it hard to concentrate on his path. His eyes kept sliding across to where the girl was walking at his side, slightly closer than strictly comfortable, or at least he would have said so under other circumstances. As it was, he found himself actually really enjoying her close company, rather too much to tell the truth, and while he always did his best to rise to any occasion, portions of his anatomy were taking that image too literally by far. He adjusted his long coat in an attempt to hide his arousal, which was hardly appropriate and in all honesty rather surprising. Julio had a long, long list of fetishes but until now scaly skin had not been one of them. He became rather vaguely aware of a scent of lilac in the air and a tingling sensation not entirely unlike that caused by imminent danger crawling under his skin. He also could not quite help noticing just how much scaly skin was revealed by Stacy's clothes, or more specifically the lack thereof. This was just ridiculous! He was in love with Monet, okay scratch that, he was unhealthily fixated on Monet but in the nicest possible sense, there was no way he would betray that obsession, no, that frustrated adoration, with some scaly chick off the streets. Who knew who'd been there first? And come to think about it, who could say where she had been?

"It's my powers," the girl said suddenly. He blinked a few times as he rose from his reverie.

"Wha-?" He realised that that was not really appropriate for the cool-as-ice, razor-sharp detective he liked to present himself as but she did not seem fussed by the idiotic display.

"You spent the last couple of minutes telling me how pretty I am and eyeing me up," she explained.

"_What_?" He had often spoken before thinking and had the bruises and scars to prove it, but speaking without thinking at all, or at least not consciously... that was a new one on him. Stacy on the other hand had clearly seen it all before, as her expression was hovering somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"It's my powers," she repeated. "My skin emits these pheromones, sort of natural chemicals that cause attraction in everyone around me."

"And how," agreed Julio under his breath, readjusting his coat. He never thought he'd find a day that a thigh length coat would be too short for any purpose but his body was doing its best to correct that mistake. "I'm really sorry about this..."

"It's not your fault," Stacy said with a resigned smile. "It's just one of those things. Does kind of come in handy when you're a... well..."

"In your line of work?" Julio suggested and Stacy smiled softly and took up the euphemism.

"Yeah, exactly. I'm used to it by now anyway."

Julio did not know whether she was referring to her 'job' or the side-effects of her powers, and thought it most likely it was both she meant. It did not seem particularly polite to ask, and frankly he wondered if knowing would do his mind any good anyway. He noticed they had made it to the room allocated as Guest Quarters.

"This is your room," he said politely. "Bit poky, have to apologise for the decor, last time we trust Guido with a paintbrush..."

It was indeed rather on the small side, and to call the wallpaper garish was something of an understatement, but Stacy's eyes lit up as she looked around and she smiled. Looking at her Julio was suddenly hit with the thought that it must only be very rarely she ever had anything to genuinely smile about. He was aware his thoughts were wandering and tried to regain his focus.

"If there's anything I can help you with, just ask," he said politely.

"Thank-you," Stacy said. She stepped closer to him as if to give a more physical demonstration of her gratitude and Julio felt the room sway alarmingly and the bones in his feet appeared to dissolve as he was struck by a strong dose of Stacy's mutant pheromones. He grabbed the closest thing to hand in an attempt to regain his balance and once the weird fit had passed he realised it had been his guest he had caught hold of. More than that his body had acted independently of his brain and somehow arranged to draw Stacy close and gather her in his arms. Their faces were now merely centimetres apart and from the look in her eyes she would not object in the slightest if he closed that distance.

"You alright man? We were getting worried you were- whoa!" It was Guido, who had finally decided to risk wandering in on his friend _en flagrante_. He suddenly realised he may have cause to regret that decision. Julio looked around and sprang several metres backwards in the same motion.

"Geez, Guido you nearly gave me a heart attack, you big-" he realised he was taking out his shock and embarrassment on the muscle-bound mutant, and further that he was being extremely unfair in doing so. If anything he should probably be thanking the big lug, who had stepped in at a crucial moment. "Yeah, I'm- _we're_- fine. I mean I don't think there's anything else you need help with?"

"No, I'm fine thanks," Stacy confirmed. She watched the saturnine Mexican and his hulking friend walking out of the door and down the corridor, their voices echoing behind them.

"So, you and the witness is it?" Guido chuckled.

"Shut up."

"Julio and Stacy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-"

"Shut _up_! How old are you again?" Julio snapped. "Given you have a mental age of about nine..."

"I'm just saying..." But what Guido was just saying would have to remain a mystery as a door clanged shut behind them and cut the voices off.

_The Xavier Institute_

The X-Men had gathered to discuss the various things they had managed to find out. It did not make for very good listening.

"We've managed to confirm what Remy told us-" Scott began.

"No need to sound so surprised," the Cajun muttered darkly under his breath. Scott ignored him and carried on talking.

"- me and Jean went to the bar he mentioned and spoke to the barman, saying we were Layla's older brother and sister. He said he had seen her there and that she had left with some gambling guy he'd thought was looking after her- they seemed to be pretty close according to him."

"Did he mention anything about the guys who went after me?" Remy demanded. His body was still bruised and aching, but more than that so was his pride. Normally he could have taken the whole group of them with ease; in fact he probably wouldn't even have to have resorted to using his powers. Unfortunately the cramped conditions and the need to protect Layla had prevented him fighting at full efficiency, that was his story at least and he intended to stick with it.

"No, but I scanned him briefly and he definitely knows something," Jean explained. "I couldn't do a deeper-level probe without drawing too much attention, but he was practically sweating guilt, he seemed to think we were cops."

"He should count himself lucky it wasn't me he ran into," Remy scowled.

"Other than that we didn't manage to find out an awful lot," Scott admitted. "One girl going missing is not exactly headline news, no-one seemed particularly bothered."

"Except those two who were hassling Jamie and Rahne," Kurt pointed out fairly. The Professor looked puzzled.

"Who were these two you refer to?" He asked. "I can't say the idea of other people asking about Miss Miller fills me with confidence."

"Don't know much," Kurt admitted. "They backed down pretty quickly but one of them was definitely a mutant- there's no way a human gets that much muscle."

"Hmm..." The Professor stroked his chin curiously. This case was clearly far beyond an otherwise-innocent mutant girl simply vanishing; this was definitely a professional job if Logan was to be believed, and there was no reason why he should be lying and it seemed unlikely he'd be mistaken about something like this. Now it seemed that the X-Men were not the only ones who were aware of the missing girl, and for that matter not the only ones trying to find her. That led to more questions: who were the mysterious pair who had accosted Jamie and Rahne? Who were they working for, and why did they or their employers have such interest in Layla Miller? From the sound of things, the strange pair seemed to know a lot more about the X-Men than the X-Men did about them if the way they had deliberately avoided a fight was any indication. The fact that at least one of the pair was a mutant ruled out the police or other 'official' agencies, as mutants were so rare as to be practically non-existent amongst those organisations.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said Hank, who was clearly thinking along similar lines and running into similar obstacles. He had spent the day investigating any clues he could find about those behind the abduction. He had come no closer to finding out who had ordered the attack, but he had managed to find out a little bit about the perpetrators at least. "I've managed to find out about our mysterious Mr Cimetta, or at least a person going by that name who seems the most likely culprit."

"What've you got for us Hank?" Logan demanded. He liked the blue-furred genius more than would be thought given how different their personalities were, but he was in no mood for one of the Beast's infamously long-winded, rambling conjectures, which tended to focus as much on new scientific breakthroughs and theories as the subject at hand. This had become so familiar as to become something of a running joke but Logan was not feeling humorous right now.

"Well, there is a Vicente Cimetta who works as a hired thug," Hank began. "A long list of offences, many more unsolved cases attributed to him but never made to stick: robbery, assault, various drug dealing schemes, and more to the point he is a prime suspect in the Meyer kidnapping a few years back."

"He's got previous form then?" Xavier said.

"To say the least," Hank confirmed. "He is also a mutant, which ties in with Mr LeBeau's account. He is on file as a limited shapeshifter, primarily altering the composition and density of his molecular structure to enable him to alternate between solid, liquid and gaseous states, or to take on certain qualities of the structures and surfaces he is surrounded by at the time."

"I might just have understood as much as a third of those words," Bobby said, wearing the same thunderstruck expression as his team-mates, and for that matter anyone below genius-level intellect confronted with a characteristic Hank McCoy scientific lecture.

"Basically his body becomes a solid, a liquid or a gas and he can merge with whatever he's standing on," Hank tried again. Realisation dawned on his teammates faces as they processed the simplified version and its implications.

"So, pretty powerful then?" Scott hazarded.

"Very much so, and if his companion today really did have horns its likely he's just one of a number of mutants working for a so-far unknown crime-lord."

"Oh good, a mutant gangster with an army of powerful goons, I thought everything was going too easily," Bobby said sarcastically. "Still at least we know where they're keeping Layla- oh wait, no we don't! Logan managed to lose them!"

"You want to try that again, Icicle?" Logan said dangerously. Bobby gulped.

"Erm, that is to say, they managed to give Logan the slip by no doubt dastardly and underhand means," he corrected himself. Logan glared at him for a few minutes then let it go. The Icicle would regret that one next time Logan managed to get him into the Danger Room, but there were more pressing matters to be taken care of right now.

"What are they saying?" Jamie whispered outside the door. He was kneeling beside Rahne and had totally unconsciously placed a warm hand on her shoulder. The contact served to cheer and encourage both of them. Rahne was leaning forward towards the door, having transformed just far enough into her animal form for her senses to expand and intensify; it was because of this that the ear placed against the thick mahogany door was a pointed leaf shape and covered in downy dark brown hair. Normally neither of them would have ever contemplated trying to eavesdrop on the senior team, but they were just high enough on youthful enthusiasm and the first pangs of their budding love to think it a great plan. The fact that such emphasis had been placed on the privacy of this particular meeting only added to the illicit thrill. Besides, as Jamie had pointed out, he and Rahne had been the ones actually confronted by the mysterious, shady pair earlier; if anyone had a right to know what was going on it was them.

"Something about a girl called Layla Miller," Rahne whispered back. Jamie looked thoughtful and repeated the name a few times before realisation hit him like a thunderbolt, loosening his jaw and widening his eyes.

"That's the girl those two creeps were asking about!" he said excitedly, then dropped his voice after some frantic shushing gestures from his girlfriend. He felt the familiar warm glow as he repeated that key fact: Rahne Sinclair was the girlfriend of him, Jamie Madrox, the luckiest boy in the world. "We could tell them about it!"

"Yes, and we could do extra Danger Room sessions for the next five years when they realise we eavesdropped on them," Rahne pointed out. She was just too sensible to fully abandon her logic and foresight even in the heady rush of young love. She put her ear back against the door with an expression of consternation on her face. "Wait, something's happening... they're... oh drat, they're coming!"

Rahne was a child of a strict Presbyterian upbringing and as such barely capable of even thinking stronger curse words, much less saying them out loud. In anyone else Jamie would probably have found it annoying or ridiculous, but in her he found it strangely endearing. Rahne noticed his slightly goofy grin and was about to snap at him to get his wits together when he swirled into motion, grabbing one of her arms and pulling her close as he dragged them both into a corner and began kissing her. Rahne went stiff with shock and outrage but her eyes were on the X-Men as they trooped past in twos and threes, for the most part not even suspecting eavesdroppers, let alone noticing them. An annoyingly cheerful voice heralded the running out of that luck.

"See? I totally told you so," Kitty announced. Who she had 'totally told' was unclear until they replied in a thickly German-accented voice.

"Was? That doesn't prove anything," Kurt said sulkily.

"Doesn't prove anything? They're, like, all over each other Fuzzy..." The rest of the conversation occurred out of earshot but with no chance of discovery Rahne was free to tell Jamie precisely what she thought of his rather forward advances. Yes they were dating but had only been so for a few hours, she was not used to such impetuous and improper treatment just yet.

"You've got three seconds to explain yourself Madrox," she said sharply. Jamie grinned slightly nervously but did not release her completely.

"Explain what?" said Jamie's voice, but it came from behind her as he came round a corner. He saw the dupe standing with Rahne. "What?" A heartbeat later he noticed the pose the two were in, and the possessive way his dupe was holding Rahne. "_What?_"

"What?" Rahne said too, completely nonplussed. She became aware that the conversation was veering slightly off track and tried to regain a measure of control. She saw the Jamie holding her was grinning nervously. "But you're..."

"He's a dupe," the new Jamie said angrily. "I've been looking for him ever since we got back."

The dupe backed off, his hands held up before him in a placatory gesture and his grin now fixed in place but weakening by the second. "Hey come on, think about it... let's not do anything hasty..."

"Oh yes _let's_," the real Jamie snapped angrily. He lunged for dupe and grabbed him. There was a strange blurring of the air and a despairing yelp that cut out halfway through and suddenly there was only one Jamie, one with an expression of extreme annoyance. "Sorry about that."

"It's alright, it wasn't you doing it," Rahne assured him. "Erm... how much of what happened do you know?"

"The works, everything he said and _did_, I know about," Jamie said darkly. It appeared manhandling Rahne was not the only act his dupe had perpetrated that he was unhappy about. "Also what he heard the X-Men talking about."

"That Layla Miller girl?" Rahne asked.

"That's right. Thing I want to know is, what are we going to do about it?" Jamie asked.

"What do you mean?" Rahne was confused. As far she was aware there was nothing _to _do about it. The older team clearly had the situation if not in control, then at least in hand, and had a plan about what their next step should be. As exciting as the little encounter with the mysterious pair earlier had been, she was in no particular rush to repeat the experience.

"Just think about it, right? What if we were the ones to find her? That would be pretty cool, wouldn't it?"

"It would also be extremely unlikely," Rahne pointed out. She had seen Jamie undergoing similar experiences before. The longer a dupe was independent, the stronger the personality aspect it represented would grow. After a while it got to the stage where it took Jamie some time to reassert his 'real' personality over the dupe's when it was reabsorbed. "Besides, we got away with it this time; I can't see our luck holding out forever."

"I suppose your right," Jamie admitted. He looked momentarily downbeat but soon his naturally cheerful personality resurfaced. "Come on, do you want to go see if there's any good movies on?"

"Why not?" Rahne agreed. She watched Jamie practically bouncing away and shook her head good-naturedly. His enthusiasm and irrepressible good spirits were part of what attracted her to him, but she could see she may have to rein in some of his wilder impulses. She sighed and walked after him. That could take a while.


	8. Chapter 8

**Cortex VIII: The Morning after the Night Before**

_The next morning, Cortex Investigation Agency Headquarters_

Julio was not a fan of early starts, which he defined as any time before at the earliest eleven o'clock. Thus being woken four hours before this time was not an act calculated to endear him to the waker, even one of such beauty and charm as Monet St Croix. Fortunately, the swearwords and dire names he had thrown her way had been in his native Spanish; unfortunately for him however, Spanish was one of several languages she spoke fluently and she had understood exactly what he had called her. It was because of this that he was cradling a badly bruised arm as he limped down the corridor to the room that Stacy had spent the night in. His grumbling and resentful muttering was not reduced in the slightest by the way the door appeared to have locked itself, or been locked by the room's occupant for some reason. If the latter was the case, he guessed he should probably knock instead of barging right in. He knocked cautiously and called out.

"Miss X? Uh... Stacy? Are you alright?" he asked. There was no reply and he knocked again, louder this time. "Hey, Stacy? Can you hear me? It's me, Julio." Still nothing, and now he was beginning to worry slightly. He should have heard something by now, no-one could sleep through his racket completely unresponsive. He listened hard but there was no sound that indicated movement behind the door. He reached for the keys at his belt, but his fingers closed on thin air. He swore again and reached into several pockets before his fumbling fingers finally closed on the keys. He paused to try and work out which one of the several dozen similar looking keys he was supposed to be using, but inspiration was not forthcoming. He sighed and began trying them one by one; eventually he would work out which one was correct... but it could take him a while.

Further down the corridor, Monet had come across a bleary-eyed Teresa, who seemed no more pleased by the early hour than Julio had been. In contrast to Monet's own impeccably neat locks, the Irish girl's red hair was a frizzy mess of curls and tangles, and her eyes appeared to be slightly glazed. The vacant look was wiped away mid-yawn when the two girls heard a crash and a yell from the corridor Julio had been walking down. They looked at each other and then both ran towards the source of the sound; Julio was not easy to surprise, and on the few occasions he was taken aback he was very adept at hiding his shock. It would take an awful lot to make him drop his guard like that, and there was no mistaking the stunned anguish in his voice. When they reached him he was leaning against the doorway in shock, his normally dark skin blotchy and pale and a horrified look in his eyes.

"Julio! Are you alright?" Monet asked, rather redundantly.

"I will be," he said quietly. "But I don't think I can say the same of our guest."

The two girls entered the room cautiously. At first glance the body on the bed appeared to be merely asleep, but after a few seconds it became clear that the chest was not moving, nor was there the sound of breath being drawn. Operating more on instinct than any belief it would help, Teresa knelt by the body and reached with two fingers towards the neck in a search for a pulse that proved fruitless, as they had all known it would.

"She's dead," she said. They had not needed telling that, it had been obvious from the moment they had seen her, but hearing the words spoken out loud rammed home the point.

"That or she's developed the mutant ability to look over her own spine," Monet quipped darkly. Julio whirled on her at once.

"Don't even joke about it! She's dead! I promised her I'd look after her and now she's dead!"

"Keep it down guys, it's still really- holy crap!" Guido had heard either Julio's yell or the commotion made on the girls' arrival and had decided to investigate. He clearly had not been expecting to find the corpse of their new guest lying in the bed. Monet's joke had been in very bad taste but the basic facts were correct: Stacy's head had been jerked viciously and was now limp and lifeless, facing the opposite direction to normal. Her eyes were open and somehow the look of shock still hung in the otherwise empty orbs. She had clearly been conscious when her murderer attacked her, and presumably remained so right until the moment her neck was brutally snapped. Monet was the first of the gathered mutant investigators to get over her shock enough to perform an impromptu autopsy. She examined the body, which had already begun to stiffen as rigor mortis set in. The hands were held up defensively and there were traces of blood just about visible underneath her fingernails. She had clearly put up a struggle with her assailant and just as clearly proved unequal to the fight. Whoever was responsible for the murder was either very lucky or very methodical in their approach, and none of the investigators could pick up so much as a trace of the intruder. Monet had even tried a mental scan in a faint hope of picking up a psychic residue that had been left behind in the turmoil and high emotion of the struggle, but it had proved fruitless as she had expected it would.

"Okay, what happened here?" James said, sweeping into the room. Somehow he had guessed or worked out what had happened, but was either less shocked or more restrained than the others, as he was already in his leader mode."Who found her, what clues can we pick up?"

"I did," Julio said. "I came to wake her up, got no reply when I knocked and when I went in, I just found her like this."

"Shit," James summed up the prevailing mood succinctly. "Now what do we do?"

"I really, _really _hope you were being rhetorical there," Guido said worriedly. He was only half-joking. They may tease and play around with James but he was not in charge because of his magical ways with accounts and organisation, he was in charge because he was the leader, he made the decisions and they obeyed them and respected him for making them. If he genuinely did not have any idea about what the next action should be they were in even deeper trouble than they first thought, and that was quite deep enough already.

"Homicide is outside of our range, we've got to tell the cops about this," Teresa opined. It was not surprising. She was estranged from her father and rarely spoke about him but they knew he was a cop or agent of some kind, and growing up in his shadow had left Teresa the closest thing to a strait-laced member they had.

"We already know the top five suspects though," Monet countered. "And they're all standing in this room right now."

"Besides, Bish's okay but those other cops would just love a chance to get their sticky mitts on our records and files," Guido added. Julio was the last member to speak and in a way it seemed appropriate that he and Teresa book-ended the debate, as they were almost polar opposite in their attitudes and approaches. Like Teresa, he was influenced by his father, but instead of a cop, Richter senior had been a smuggler, primarily of guns and drugs but when the money was good he'd turn his hand to anything. As a result, Julio's techniques tended to the dubious even amongst an unorthodox organisation like Cortex Investigation Agency.

"We don't know anything about who killed her, why and how they decided to do it," he said finally. "We go to the cops with what we've got at the moment and we'll end up in a cell. We've got to at least give them something to work with that doesn't paint a target on our asses saying 'kick here.'"

"I agree with the sentiment, if not the wording," James agreed. "We might be able to find a few leads or at least a clue about what happened and why. Besides, we promised to look after Stacy and we failed her... she deserves what justice we can give her." He looked around at his team-mates and saw them all nodding agreement with his logic. All of them were beginning to get over their shock and its absence left space for anger and determination to fill them instead. "We've got to see what we can find out. Monet, you're the best with computers, I want you to see if the cameras picked up anyone suspicious. Guido, spread the word, tell Jess what happened, and see if this is a one-off or part of a spree killing. If you can, let Bishop know too, he'll keep his mouth shut and he might be able to give us something from police records about who might be behind this." The two both nodded and hurried away to fulfil the roles they had been given. James turned to the other two.

"Julio, I want you to let Stacy's, uh, friends know. They might know of someone after her, and they deserve a warning at least."

"On it," confirmed Julio. He strode off purposefully. That left Teresa and James.

"Teresa, I need you to make sure this business stays private until we know more. Stay on the desks, turn away anyone and everyone who's even vaguely suspicious. There's a chance this is a frame-up job so if anyone seems to be asking questions we don't want asked you let me know."

"Again with the damn reception duties," Teresa muttered. She caught the cold look James was giving her and had to make a determined effort not to flinch guiltily. "I was just kidding, of course I'll do it. What about you?"

"I'm going to try and keep the Miller kidnapping case high-profile, ask around some people and a few enquiries with the usual suspects. Hopefully people will see that and not guess there's anything else going on. Any of the others turn anything up, you let me know, got it?"

"Loud and clear," Teresa said. She was burning with a desire to solve this case, as although she had not known the murdered prostitute for more than a few hours, she had quite liked what she had seen. Besides, even if it had not offended her principles and her morals, the fact the killing had taken place almost literally in their backyard suggested it was just as much a taunting message to the Investigative firm as an attack on Stacy herself. She marched off and James waited for a few moments to make sure he was definitely alone before punching a wall in rage and slumping onto the bed. The stinging in his grazed, bruised knuckles was as nothing compared to the smouldering rage in his heart. He had taken the murder even more personally than Teresa, and in his heart of hearts knew the ultimate responsibility for Stacy's death lay with him as the team leader. Responsibility... now there was a word he loved to hate. He knew he had it in him to be a good leader, and that for the most part he was decisive and quick-thinking, and that the team he had assembled had real quality underneath the mismatched exteriors. On the other hand he also knew that more than once the whole team and everything they had worked on had teetered on a precipice he'd helped to shape. None of them could appreciate what he did; that was not meant as a criticism of course- all of them had crosses to bear and the scars from when they had dropped them. He on the other hand had chosen his path and the hardships he had known would await him along the way. He somehow had the sense that the team was suddenly facing a cross-roads and that it would be him who lead them down the path, to glory and validation or to ignominious failure and collapse. He could practically visualise an immense, roaring wave bearing down on them, and one bad decision or wrong choice and it would sweep them all away to ruination.

"Uh... James? Are you alright?"

He realised he had literally lost himself in his pensive musing and gloomy visions. It could be five minutes or five hours since he had issued his orders and for better or worse his leadership was needed again. It was Monet who had roused him and he looked at her with a weak smile. She even looked concerned for a few moments before she realised her emotional cracks were showing and slipped her mask of icy indifference back on. James turned away so she did not see the small grin that passed across his face. He was one of very few people the powerful telepath ever allowed to see behind her ice queen persona, however infrequently.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "Well, as fine as anyone can be who's just seen the world go to hell in a hand-basket."

"That bad?" Monet sounded surprised. James was not totally surprised himself by that fact. He realised that none of the others could see how wide the wider picture actually was, because none of them were the ones who dealt with the press and the cops and all the others who had vested interests in seeing Cortex Investigations Agency collapse. The fact that a girl had died under their supervision was a tragedy, but it was just the stone in a political and social pond that could be whipped into a tidal wave if the ripples spread far enough. If word got out of what had happened, the police would have to be involved. If the police got involved then by association suspicion would fall on James and his colleagues. If the whole story, including the death, reached the public then there would be those who attributed it to the fact that all parties involved were mutants, although as far as James could see that had no particular bearing on the incident, which could well have happened if Stacy, the Investigators or both had been human. Of course, the odds of the tabloid press and anti-mutant campaigners seeing it that way were minimal to the point of non-existent, and James would not have bet against the incident spiralling out of control until one tragic, pointless death prompted a witch-hunt against any and all mutants. He realised he had not said anything to Monet's question.

"We've got to put a stop to this as soon as possible," he said finally. "Otherwise it's only going to get worse."

"Ah... well..." Monet looked as close to embarrassed as James had ever seen her and he guessed that whatever she had come to tell him it was not good news. She sighed. "I've done a review of the camera footage, but... oh, you'll have to see it yourself."

James followed her away down the corridor to the room that served as their technological centre. The main computer database with all their files on past cases, and profiles of past allies and enemies alike, was kept here. So was the radio they had managed to tune into police frequency, albeit with limited range. It was also the room containing the stored footage recorded by the many cameras they had set up outside and inside the building. Monet sat behind the monitor and pushed a few buttons, and a loop of footage from one particular camera filled the screen, the time of filming in one corner and the length of the footage, about thirty seconds, running in another. The footage was not particularly clear, and a dark blob periodically flashed across the screen at around the nineteen-second mark. Monet pointed at it. "You see it?" she asked.

"Erm, no," admitted James. "Humour me for a moment and assume I don't have your superhuman senses and reflexes."

Monet was not one to apologise about anything but she did push another button and the footage slowed right down, playing at a frame-per-second rate. Now the dark blob was revealed to be not a glitch in the footage as James had assumed but a vaguely humanoid shape that flashed past with almost superhuman speed before passing out of sight.

"What the hell was that?" James demanded. Monet played it back again and now he was prepared for the sight James managed to make out more detail about the figure. It appeared to be dark but vaguely translucent and the shape kept rippling and blurring like grass in a breeze. "Some kind of gas?"

"It looks like it," Monet said. "But after it passes by camera B1 we don't see anything until a minute or two later on C4." She brought up the appropriate footage, which appeared to be of a drainage pipe running up the wall. A few seconds in the dark shape appeared on the periphery of the screen- then collapsed in on itself and vanished. James stared in confusion.

"Where'd it go?"

"Up the pipe," Monet explained. Her eyes were much better than anyone else on the team; in fact they were almost avian in their sharpness and acuity, like a falcon or an eagle spotting prey from its lofty position amongst the clouds. "And that's where things go really wrong."

"More wrong than someone dodging our entire security system and vanishing from sight?"

"I'm afraid so. That pipe is the main drainage pipe of the whole building- the water and plumbing systems from every room end up connected to it somehow. And if things can get out through it..."

"Then they can get back in," James concluded grimly. "Which must be how this guy got into Stacy's room."

"Right- because a few minutes later, this happens." Monet tapped a few buttons and the view switched to the camera hidden behind the mirror in the room. The legality of this arrangement was a matter James was not entirely clear about but they were generally used to keep track of guests they suspected of ulterior motives. They had not thought they needed to keep constant surveillance on Stacy- after all, where would she go, what would she do?- and would normally have deleted the recording without a second thought, but it seemed that it could prove useful after all. James was brutally disabused of this notion when the camera suddenly cut out completely. The timer in the corner kept running but the whole screen had suddenly fizzled into static that made it impossible to see what was happening in the room beyond. Suddenly the screen cleared but all that was visible was a huddled shape on the bed that they now knew to be Stacy's corpse but on-screen appeared to be a sleeping form. James looked at the time of the filming.

"Two thirty AM," he read aloud. "But we don't know how he managed to blow the camera. He must have no bothered with the outside ones; he knew we wouldn't be able to ID him from those. What about anything showing the killer leaving?"

"No. Once they were inside the pipes they could use them to find another route out that they couldn't see from the outside," Monet explained. James pondered the problem briefly. If they called in help from Bishop and a few others that owed them a favour, or had a good reason to desire Cortex Investigations' discretion, they would probably be able to find a name for this mysterious gaseous assassin. After all, the powers were unusual ones, and the killer was clearly experienced and accomplished; this was not a jilted lover or jealous rival reacting out of anger, and there were good odds he had been accused of or linked with similar crimes. After that it would be a matter of finding the murderer, but that was a problem they could worry about once they knew who they were looking for. He was rerunning the facts through again when he was struck with a sudden thought.

"Wait... Stacy was killed by breaking of the neck, yes?" he asked.

"Yes," Monet said, her tone if not her words adding 'of course.'

"Because I've never heard of a gas that can twist someone's spine like that," James said. Sudden realisation dawned on Monet.

"Then we must be dealing with a shapeshifter of some kind," she said. "Someone who can turn into gas and back again..."

"Let's hope so," James said darkly. Monet looked at him in surprise. She could not conceive a reason that they should be pleased to be dealing with a shapeshifting killer who could transform into an impervious gas form. He explained his strange words. "Because if we're not, that means someone else did the actual killing, which means an accomplice. Of course, the cameras show no-one else entering at any time, so if there was an accomplice, they were already inside."

"That would explain how come we have hardly any footage of their approach, and why the camera was cut off," Monet realised. "Someone gets in here and makes sure it's turned off at the right time."

"It makes sense," James agreed. "Except for one thing..."

"Which is?"

"Only five people know the codes to access the computers here."

"Oh..." Monet found words failing her temporarily as she worked out the implications of that statement. It was obvious who the 'five people' were: she and her team-mates. It was not beyond reason a skilled hacker could break into the system but they'd need to get into the room itself, as the computers were not connected to any external server, as insurance against just such an occurrence. There was therefore only one way that someone could get in to the building and then into the system...

"An inside job." Monet whispered the words, too shocked to manage anything but a hushed undertone, but in the sudden, horrified silence they rang out like the bells of hell. They looked at each other in appalled disbelief. What was already a bad turn of events was rapidly turning into a situation torn straight from their worst nightmares. The whole team was in the eye of a storm that could tear down the fragile human-mutant relations beyond repair... and one of them was an agent of that chaos, seeking to bring about a conflict that could prompt a war. It could be any one of them. There was nothing else for it; they would have to go through the whole team, quizzing and interrogating people they knew, trusted and liked. James had a feeling the price of peace between mutants and humans would be everything he and his friends had worked for. He made his way slowly to his office. Monet realised he needed space to think, and she herself could do with some privacy to try and calculate the ramifications of events, and what she could do to prevent a total loss of control. She sat back down behind the desk and began reviewing every moment of footage in a desperate attempt to find something, anything that would prove their suspicions invalid and foolish. Somehow she doubted her efforts would bear fruit.

"Terry, would you come up to my office please?" James' voice came through the intercom. She looked surprised then realised he would not be able to see that from his office several stories above.

"Sure... but what about keeping this place open? I thought we wanted to keep it as business as usual."

"Business is anything but usual," James said darkly. "Just close the hell up and get your skinny Irish ass up here right now."

Teresa seethed and was about to make an angry response when the intercom clicked off and left her unable to contact him. She knew he was stressed about the whole situation, they all were, but why the hell had he abandoned all trace of tact? If he thought he could relieve his frustration by taking it out on her then by God he had another think coming. Teresa Cassidy was no-one's punch-bag, and she fully intended to prove it. She closed the door and flipped the sign hanging on the door until it told watching eyes the Agency was closed to business. Julio and Guido would guess something was up and enter from the side entrance in the alley. She stormed towards the office and practically kicked the door open, so hard the entire office shook and a hairline crack snaked from one corner of the glass window set in the door.

"You've got two seconds to explain yourself James Maddox," she growled. He did not look cowed in the slightest, in fact if anything her anger fuelled his own. He stood up and matched her angry glare, neither of them backing down.

"Funny, I was about to tell you the same thing," he said. That took her aback slightly, what the hell was he trying to suggest? Confusion was soon replaced by fresh rage and she could not help a frustrated snarl that in conjunction with her powers made the entire room shake.

"What." It was a flat statement not question, she was clearly grappling with her anger and words of more than one syllable were beyond her flagging self-control. James was not intimidated in the slightest.

"We know how the killer got in," he said bluntly. "And we know he couldn't have done it alone."

"Then find him and ask who his accomplice was!"

"His 'accomplice' was already inside," James said. "And able to deactivate the cameras. Of course to do that, they'd need to be in the security centre, but that was being guarded... by you."

"What are you implying here?" Teresa growled. She had a fair idea of exactly what she was being accused of but somehow she had to hear it from him before she would believe he could even think such a thing.

"You turned off the cameras, which let the killer inside," James told her. "We checked it, they did not malfunction- this was done deliberately. And you were the only one who could have done it."

"I signed off at one, none of this had happened by then," Teresa contradicted him. "Anyone could have turned up after that and done whatever they did to the cameras."

"You were the last person to see anything," James said. "There's no footage showing anybody entering or leaving the room after that time. You set it up to delete a certain time, tell the men on the outside... and the next day, Julio walks in finds her dead and we all go after the assassin and forget about the little snake already in the tent. It all adds up."

"Assuming that there really is no footage," Teresa countered. "I mean, I'm assuming you were told this by your little tart, who just happens to be our computer expert. Everyone's wondering what's going on, she comes over all responsible and decides to check the cameras... and anything inconvenient gets deleted as she does so. Besides, if anyone could set up cameras to time out..."

"It was not Monet," James said decisively. "It couldn't have been. I know where she was all of last night, her alibi is watertight."

"I bet you do," Teresa said angrily. "All of last night she was riding your-"

"That is enough!" James snapped. "Monet is not a suspect, you on the other hand are our number one target. Consider yourself under investigation, Miss Cassidy. I suggest if you want your name cleared you cooperate fully... do I make myself clear?"

"Shove it up your arse Maddox," Teresa snarled. She knew exactly what he meant; in all but name she was under arrest. She did not doubt all the resources available to her colleagues- her former colleagues, she supposed they now were- would be employed in tracking her and her every movement. She decided that for now she would indeed stay right here. She was innocent, she had nothing to fear and she wanted to be there when the feeble case Monet was clearly trying to insinuate against her crumbled like a house of cards in a hurricane. Besides, even if there really was an insider amongst the group, she wanted to find them herself and make them pay for her humiliation and shame, and the best way to find them would be to stay right where she was. She knew for all the rage and bluster that James had blown up in their little confrontation he was not as sure as he pretended that she really was guilty. For one thing he had not even bothered bringing up the identity of the actual killer, nor had he attempted to bully or persuade the name of whoever she was apparently working for. She was pretty sure she was right about the nature of Monet's 'alibi' but she had seen both Julio and Guido exiting and they had yet to return and face interrogation themselves. Teresa found it hard to believe either of them could possibly be responsible but then she had thought the others had supposed the same of her and clearly that was not the case. The infuriating thing was that on light scrutiny the evidence seemed logical enough, and accurate as far as it went. She had been the one to check the cameras last night, and that would indeed have made her prime suspect in any attempt to sabotage the equipment. Of course that still did not come close to providing a satisfactory motivation for the betrayal but then the same could be said of all the others too.

"What's the matter, Teresa? Run out of Guinness?" It was Guido's voice and sounded annoyingly cheerful. She yelled wordlessly at him in irritation and he was sent reeling back the way he had come by the unfocussed sonic power. He stared after the retreating redhead; he was as shocked as any of them about Stacy's death but it took a lot to depress Guido Carosella for any great length of time and even when he was feeling down he wisecracked incessantly rather than show his real mood. James had sounded annoyed enough when he called Guido back from his mission, but the guy had had nothing on Teresa. Guido made his way into James' office, only remembering at the last moment he had to turn sideways to make it through without demolishing the doorframe.

"What's the matter?" He asked. James was not looking at him when he next spoke, instead gazing out of a window at the alleyway that hours before had been used by the assassin to infiltrate the building. James was regretting his outburst at Teresa; she was as likely a candidate as any of them to be the traitor but he had very little proof that was anything but circumstantial, and on consideration probably should have been more thoughtful and measured in his line of approach. He decided on a more conciliatory tone with Guido. Quite apart from the desire to learn from past mistakes, he was also fully aware if the big mutant lost his temper like Teresa had then it was quite possible the entire building would suffer as a result.

"Whoever killed Stacy had help from the inside," he said bluntly. There did not appear to be a way to gloss over that basic fact and though Guido was a man of many strengths and talents, understanding of finer emotions and implications were not among them. "We don't know who it was, but as far as we know it could be any of us."

"You think it was me?" Guido displayed his typical ability to get right to the heart of a question. It was part of what made him a surprisingly good detective, especially when paired with Monet or Julio, both of who rated their psychology skills rather highly. Anyone trying to work out the full implications of a rhetorical question or leading sentence would be wrong-footed when Guido took the more direct route. He was one of the kindest, gentlest men James knew, and totally without guile or malice. A less likely saboteur or traitor would be hard to think of... but what if he knew that, and was relying on it to keep him from suspicion?

"We have to operate on the assumption it might be," James said vaguely. "It could be any of us, or even none of us and we're following a completely false trail. We don't know for sure."

"You can cross me off that list," Guido said. "Even if there was a reason for me to do it, there's no way I could sneak around without someone in the next state noticing."

It was classic Guido: a hint of self-deprecation, and a quick joke thrown in for good measure. He certainly wasn't acting suspiciously different from normal. Of course, to a certain frame of mind that was suspicious in itself. A girl had been murdered mere hours before and he was already joking and laughing as though nothing had happened? James felt his head spinning. He preferred detective cases of the 'it was him, we just need proof' variety, not all this skulduggery and potential double-crosses. The only member he could rule out for sure was him, but to the others he was a viable suspect. Despite his words to Teresa, he couldn't even be sure Monet was totally innocent. He had fallen asleep and woken up with her at his side in bed, an unusual but not unheard of situation, but it was not impossible she had gambled on that leading him to rule her out. His vision blurred and his skull felt like it had been worked over with a sledgehammer; this was getting too much, everyone was a suspect and no-one could be trusted. And to think last night the closest thing he'd had to a crisis was Guido and Julio falling out over the merits of the _Die Hard _series. Suddenly a voice intruded on his thoughts.

"James?" He looked up to see Monet hovering in the doorway. Behind her he could make out Teresa lurking in the corridor with an expression that could have been resentment, shock or triumph, or even a bizarre mix of all three. He sighed and massaged his temples.

"What!" he barked. The other three recoiled in shock at his rudeness and he moderated his tone slightly when he next spoke. "I mean, what's the matter Monet?"

"You did call Julio back didn't you?" she persisted. He tried not to look too surprised at such an innocuous question. Of course he had called Julio back, it was the logical thing to do once the possibility of a traitor in their midst had arisen. Gather the entire team into one place where even if he could not keep an eye on them they could at least watch each other. Besides, he wasn't sure that the murder wasn't merely the first stage of a more elaborate scheme, and he may need every member and their powers at his disposal.

"Yes, same time I called everyone else," he said. The confirmation did not bring cheer to the faces of his team-mates, if anything it made them look even gloomier than before. He was about to ask why when Monet tossed something small, dark and round onto his desk. It landed with a faint 'clink' and rolled briefly before settling right in front of James. He recognised it instantly- it was the communication device Julio always kept pinned to the inside of the lapel of his coat, where it would be invisible to anyone who did not already know it was there. It did not look to be damaged at all and that suggested he had taken it off willingly. From there the implications thudded into place like a toppling domino chain. He had taken it off so they could not contact or trace him. If they could not trace him, they would find it harder to work out where he was and what he was doing. And if he didn't want them knowing what he was doing, it was unlikely to be anything beneficial to the team. And all this just after they discovered the murdered Stacy... in fact, he had been the one to first stumble across the dead body, hadn't he? Convenient that no-one else would know before he was ready...

"Do we know where's he gone?" James asked rather hopelessly.

"Not a clue," Monet said mournfully. "No sight, sound or scent. I tried a psychic scan but he was shielded or out of range."

James thought about it for a few minutes, studying his steepled fingers as he tried to come up with the best possible solution. When he looked up at the others, they recoiled simultaneously. James was not known for his perpetually sunny disposition and ready smile, but it had been a long time since they'd seen him with such a dark, forbidding glower on his face.

"Maybe I'm overreacting," he said at last. "Maybe there's been a big misunderstanding, maybe there's a totally rational explanation for why he's gone. But maybe not. Guido, Teresa, Monet... find me Julio Esteban Richter. I think he's got some explaining to do."


	9. Chapter 9

**Cortex IX**

_Five Minutes Previously_

Julio would probably have agreed with the assessment of his leader, had he been conscious. Unfortunately he had questions of his own that need answering but was in no condition to ask them. He had made his way to an area considered seedy even by the standards of Mutant Town, the population consisting almost entirely of street-walkers, drug-dealers and petty criminals with an eye for an easy mark. Strangely enough he was not particularly upset or put out by the surroundings, or the occupants; when he had worked for his father these kinds of people had been regular company, hell some of them he had even counted as friends. Of course, his reception would most likely be anything but friendly once word got out of the message he was bearing. He sighed and braced himself as he approached the first prostitute he came across. She probably had up to a decade on his own twenty-three years, but she still had an excellent figure, a shapely rear and generous breasts that showed none of the signs of destitution and premature aging he would have expected. Her skin was alabaster-pale except for the dark birthmark over one eye and seemed remarkably clear and free of blemishes. He was mildly surprised to find she had a genuinely attractive turn of features.

"Uh, excuse me... did you know Stacy?" he asked. He had decided to ignore the facts of their profession and their lifestyle and keep his interactions strictly informal rather than... professional. Hopefully his attitude and stance would impart his lack of desire to hire their services. The woman he was currently talking to seemed particularly world-weary and cynical; certainly she didn't even bother trying to sell herself professionally. She produced a cigarette somehow pulled from impossibly tight trousers and lit it with a similarly summoned lighter and stared at him for a few seconds before answering.

"Sure," she said. Her voice was pleasantly husky but with a hard edge beneath the velvet tones. "Scaly girl, bit on the skinny side. Haven't seen her since last night, so if it's her you're looking for..."

"Actually, I was probably the last person to see her at all," Julio said. He did not know what the best way to bring up the fact that an acquaintance, maybe even a friend, had been murdered right under his nose so he settled for the direct approach. He figured it would take a lot to surprise or disturb this jaded woman anyway. "She's... well, she's dead. Murdered, actually."

"By you?" The woman asked, but her tone was flat and disinterested as though she did not much care either way.

"What? Oh fuck no, nothing like that! I was just... I didn't... it's kind of complicated... I just thought her, uh, friends should know..." Julio knew full well he was generally a pretty laidback kind of guy; he prided himself on his cool head and refusal to panic or get carried away in circumstances that would leave others as quivering bundles of frayed nerves. Something about the scathing cynicism of this woman's gaze though was throwing that carefully cultivated _sang-froid_ away like confetti and leaving him babbling like a fool. She blew a perfect smoke circle and laughed a short, harsh laugh.

"Don't sweat it Stevens, I'm just messing with you. I'll spread the word, see if I hear anything," she said.

"Uh... thanks?" Julio was not sure what exactly he was thanking her for, was it her offer to pass the message on, or her acceptance of his assurance that he was innocent. He was getting an odd feeling that his main gratitude should be reserved for the fact he was walking away from the encounter unharmed. He had kept walking almost fifty yards when sudden realisation struck him and he spun in shock. "What did you call me?"

"Stevens," the woman said, smirking. She seemed quite disappointed that he had not noticed sooner, and there was a hint of anticipation about her posture and quirked lips as he felt his hands start to tremble. He shoved them into his pockets and even managed to force a grin onto his own face, but instead of suggesting languid amusement it quickly mutated into a grimace of shock and fear. The reaction would have seemed disproportionate to an outsider but both of them seemed to place particular significance to the name.

"Listen, I don't know where you got that name from but it's not mine, my name's Julio Richter, not Stevens..." Julio said, trying to keep a quiver from his voice and only half-succeeding.

"Oh, now it is maybe, but you were Stevens for a while, weren't you?" The woman was not really asking him, she knew the answer and was taunting him by rubbing that knowledge in his face. She continued relentlessly. "Shaking Stevens, only seventeen or eighteen but one of the best safe-crackers in the business, pretty handy in a fight too. There were always rumours that you had ways and means not available to mere mortals, especially after the Nevada Casino job. It's a miracle the only who died was the one who caused it, Shaking Stevens who was never heard of again."

"Never heard of him," Julio said weakly. The woman shook her head like a teacher confronted by a stubborn but foolish child.

"Shaking Stevens vanished four years ago, along with enough money for a prudent man to get by for a couple of years. Three years ago, a young mutant called Julio Esteban Richter appears working for a private detective agency. Pretty unusual line of work, but what's really strange is that his powers involve seismic waves generated within his body and channelled through his hands. Not unlike the late lamented Mr Stevens, and if rumours are to be believed on a similar scale- potentially _off_ the scale. You may have convinced yourself but your fooling no-one else, Richter."

"If you know so much about Stevens you know what damage he could do to a whole building... what would happen if he did it to a human body?" Julio snarled. Clearly bluffing his way out had failed, he would have to fight his way out. This woman seemed to know a lot about him but if knowing was indeed half the battle, the other half would prove much harder. He sent seismic waves through the floor but the woman leapt into the air and twisted gratefully, landing in the one spot his powers had not hit and too close for him to react. He ducked the kick she aimed at his head but his trailing foot caught in a miniscule crack in the pavement. It shouldn't have even broken his stride but for some reason it sent him stumbling away, recovering just in time for a hand to slice onto his neck neatly. He collapsed in a heap just as a car pulled up. A door swung open and the woman heaved the unconscious body inside. As he toppled inwards somehow the communicator was dislodged and fell to the pavement. The woman slipped inside the car, pulled the door shut behind her and the car pulled gracefully away. From his recognition of the alias to the car's vanishing around a corner, the whole process could not have taken more than maybe a minute or so.

It was not more than five minutes before Julio was groaning and twitching as his consciousness began to resurface. The woman who had attacked him was a professional assassin and a master martial artist. Given time to measure up an opponent she could stun anyone with precision and accuracy. When his eyes flickered open even the dim light inside the car was enough to skewer his eyeballs with razor-sharp shrapnel and he closed them again quickly. He was surprised to find that apart from a throbbing in his left temple and a dull ache in his neck similar to a sore throat he was unharmed and unrestrained. He managed to force his eyes open again and a low hiss of pain came from behind clenched teeth, but after a few moments his eyes adjusted enough that it was merely painful to look around rather than agonising.

"Mr Richter, you're back with us I see," a high voice said. He looked over to see a short man of Chinese ancestry looking at him. The man was wearing an expensively tailored suit and had an air of poise and menace, particularly in his eyes, which were cold and hard as marble. He saw the anger rising in Julio's eyes and raised a warning hand. "Don't do anything too hasty my friend or it will not go well with you."

Julio felt a sharp jabbing at his ribs but leant back slowly before daring to look at what it was. He saw the barrel of a pistol and traced it back to a pale slender hand that was not entirely surprised to find belonged to the woman he had been talking to just prior to when his memory went a bit blurry. From the expression on her face he had no doubt that she would have no hesitation in pulling the trigger if he tried anything. The Chinese businessman saw the expression on his face and laughed coldly.

"Allow me to introduce the lovely Domino," he said. "Beautiful isn't she? And she has a refreshing lack of compunction about blowing out the guts of have-a-go heroes."

"Charmed," Julio said sarcastically. "But I assume you did not kidnap me just to shoot me."

"Kidnap? No, no, you misunderstand me," the man said genially. "I was actually hoping to discuss a little proposition with you."

"I propose you shove it up your-" But the gun probed his ribs again and he cut himself off resentfully.

"That's not exactly what I had in mind," the man said. He appeared unfazed by his new guest's truculence, although there was no reason he should be worried when his pet assassin was pointing a gun at the prisoner. "But where are my manners? Let me introduce myself. The name you will probably know me by is Mr Negative..."

"I've heard of you," Julio admitted. "But none of what I heard was pleasant."

"A man in my position will always have enemies."

"Your position is at the top of the shit heap of an underworld around here, as far as I'm concerned your enemies are my friends," Julio said. Clearly Mr Negative had abducted him knowing about, or as seemed increasingly likely _because _of, his criminal past. There was no point trying to bluff or negotiate a way out or plead a mistaken identity. That left Julio's best options as toughing it out, playing the part of career criminal and hardened thug and hoping his reputation preceded him and impressed his abductors.

"I assure you, most of my enemies are merely jealous of my position and seek it for themselves- not the kind of people I'd think you'd befriend."

"There not the ones who kidnapped me at gunpoint," Julio pointed out.

"Touché," Mr Negative conceded the point. "However, neither are they the ones offering you a highly lucrative and beneficial job, so I suggest you hear me out before continuing the tough-guy act."

"I have a job," Julio said. "Bringing down creeps like you, and believe me, when I get out of this you are going right to the top of my list."

"You had a job," Mr Negative corrected him. "But somehow I doubt that your friends will be anxious to employ the services of a back-stabbing, murderous traitor."

"Well if I see one, I'll be sure to-" Julio knew full well that for some reason it was him being referred to in such unsavoury terms. Why this may be was unclear; the only treachery in his past was abandoning his fellow crooks when he grew sick of a life of crime, and he had never killed anyone. He was contemplating making an exception for this vile gangster though.

"Your bravado is beginning to bore me, Richter, so I'll spell it out in words you might understand. As far as Teresa Cassidy, James Maddox, Guido Carosella and Monet St Croix are concerned, you personally deactivated the cameras last night and used the opportunity to enter the late Miss X's room and break her neck for reasons as yet unknown. Having caused enough mayhem and distractions, you ran away to avoid justice."

"What? But there's no proof, they can't think I ran away, they know I wouldn't do that!"

"Oh, there's proof alright. We made sure of that."

Back in the Agency headquarters, the remaining members were grappling with shock and horror as they tried to process the fact that Julio Richter, colleague and trusted friend, had deceived them all. The suave, charming man they thought they had known was no more than a cipher, a mask disguising a cold-blooded, unscrupulous killer. Guido was the first to speak.

"I don't believe it, not Julio, he wouldn't do this," he said stubbornly. "There's been a mistake or he's been set up, there's no way he would kill anyone."

"If he's innocent, why did he run?" Monet said laconically. She was almost as shocked as the others at the turn of events but as a natural cynic and habitual pessimist it had not taken her quite as long to accept the possibility, although not yet the certainty of Julio's guilt. She had a point too. Why had Julio disappeared? They had searched thoroughly and found no sign of a struggle and everyone they asked claimed to have been elsewhere at the time. Besides, Julio was not the kind to go out without some sort of fight and with powers like his it seemed unlikely that he would be taken without trace. He had once managed a localised earthquake in his sleep, subconsciously activating his powers in the grip of a nightmare. But now there was no sign of anything. For all intents and purposes, he may as well never have been there.

"Even though we know Julio, we've got to treat this the same way as any other case," James said. They all gaped at him; surely this was anything _but _just another case. For one thing, their prime suspect not only knew exactly what they would do to try and catch up with him, he knew the powers and abilities of each and would have factored it into his equations. Julio was nobody's fool and anyone who could have pulled off an ice-veined murder and neat escape from the midst of a team of powerful mutants would certainly be able to come up with a scheme to allow him to evade them. Besides, they all knew him, or thought they had, and even if they did manage to catch up with him and prevent him escaping a second time could any of them honestly predict how they'd react? They had dealt with everything from missing kittens to hardened criminals, but never had they come up against such a personal target. Would the shock prove too much and give him time to escape? Would they lose their control and attack him in rage and shame? Either seemed totally possible at this stage. James appeared to be reading their thoughts as accurately as any telepath.

"Look, I won't lie to you and pretend I know what's happened, and why Julio has done this. I won't pretend that all we have to do is pick up a few convenient clues and track him down, because we all know that won't happen. But I'm not lying when I say this: as long as it is in my power I will not stop until I find him, to rescue him or to make him face justice."

Guido smashed a massive fist down on the table, making plates, cups and crockery leap a foot into the air and land in a heap. "I'm with you. Julio's one of the best friends I ever had. The way I see it, I owe it to him to get him back."

"What kind of detectives would we be to let one of our own members go missing? He's not vanishing that easily... I'm in," Teresa confirmed. Monet looked at them all with her usual expression of amused disdain and examined her nails.

"If you've all quite finished your posturing," she scoffed, "then I guess it's left to me as the brains of this outfit to remind you we still haven't got any idea where's he gone."

"Not for long," James said decisively. "Teresa, you retrace his last known steps as far as you can. Guido, I want you to investigate the scene of crime; I'll be searching his room in case he's left us anything to work with. Monet, I take it you can hack into his computer as easily as you did mine..."

"Mais oui, it was simple," she confirmed lazily, but then stiffened in shock before she managed to regain her usual poise. "Not that I did hack into your files, of course..."

"Of course you didn't," James said wryly. "But I'm sure you won't have any problems getting into Julio's anyway. We might get lucky and pick up something we can use as a lead. Right, come on people- time's wasting, let's do this!"

"But they won't be able to find anything on where I'm supposed to have gone or whatever it is I'm accused of doing," Julio pointed out. "I mean, I didn't actually plan anything, there's nothing for them to work out."

"Yes, that's a shame," Mr Negative admitted. "I suppose we'll just have to make something up. After all, it's not like they're ever going to actually find us, is it?"

"Make something-? What the hell is _that _supposed to mean?"

"I think I've got something," Monet called, sometime later. James hurried in and looked over her shoulder as she brought up the relevant information and data. She began cycling through it and using it to explain the points she was making- or was it the other way around? James was far from computer-illiterate but he had nothing on Monet's expertise. In fact, the only other member of the team who came close to matching her was... he cursed silently... Julio. If he had been using the computer to arrange his schemes and make the necessary transactions, even Monet would have to be very patient or very lucky to find it again. Monet began explaining what she had found.

"Basically, he managed to hide the information in a sub-folder marked as basic program files, so if anyone looked at it they would assume it was just normal tech for keeping the computer running. He also encrypted it, which is actually how I managed to find it, the computer flagged up the encryption when I first tried to access it, as I would need to get the password to break the encryption's code. When I managed to open the file it was written in a pictographic font rather than text, which made it harder for the program to open, and when it was converted to standard text it was written in Spanish, so I had to run it through a translator. You with me so far?"

"You lost me at 'basically'," James admitted. She sighed and tossed her raven locks in frustration that everyone seemed to fall so far short of her exacting standards. Unusually for her though, she didn't bother berating his idiocy, instead she simply tried again in simpler terms.

"You know what, it really doesn't matter how I did it, let's both agree I'm much smarter than you and you owe me big time for working this out," she suggested.

"Fine," James said. "But the suspense is killing me here, how about you tell me what you have actually found out?"

"What is comes down to is that for at least a month and probably much longer he has been receiving instructions about monitoring us and passing the information in a coded form to someone known only as 'Mr Hyde.' That's got to be an alias or codename but if Julio ever knew the guy's real name he never made a note of it."

"So whoever Hyde is, he was using Julio to spy on us?" James asked dully, unwilling to believe it could be true. He still found it hard to believe his old friend and companion in the darkest hours and the glorious moments was a traitor and a murderer but if he could just accept the former then maybe somehow he could work his way up to believing the latter too. "But still... a killer? It just doesn't add up. I don't care what Julio was, he wouldn't kill."

"The last message was sent last night," Monet went on mercilessly. "It says 'prying eyes must be blinded.' I think with hindsight we can guess whose eyes he meant... and that Stacy must have known something important, she just didn't realise its importance."

James stared for a few minutes in silence then a sound that was not quite a scream and not quite a snarl, the sound of a soul in agony tore from his lips and he kicked a nearby chair so hard it flew across the room and shattered against the wall. It all added up, despite his most fervent wishes to the contrary. Guido walked in a few minutes, clearly puzzled and slightly unnerved by the animalistic roar he'd heard all the way down the hallway. In his hands was a small piece of metal that answered many questions and added to the already damning evidence.

"I found this on the floor under the bed," he said, holding it out. It was a nut-and-bolt, or maybe a rivet of some kind; either way it looked particularly tiny lying in Guido's massive palm. "It had come out from the plumbing overhead, it must be how the gas guy got in, but it can only be undone from the outside..."

James looked at it with a mirthless grin on his face. Such a small, insignificant piece of metal which seemed to confirm the treachery of an old and valued friend. It was strange, but sometimes it was the smallest of pebbles that set off a destructive landslide. They were all thinking the same thing but it fell to him to say it out loud and confirm their suspicions. "He undoes this when he's checking she's settled in safely... he lets the assassin know somehow, then later that night the killer sneaks in through the convenient exit and..."

"Crunch," said Guido unhappily. "Julio never killed her but he sure as hell caused her death. He was probably too busy at the time controlling the cameras to make sure we didn't pick up on the murder."

Teresa walked in to find them all wearing matching expressions of gloom and futile rage, and her own expression, already glum, dropped further. "It probably doesn't mean anything anymore but... one of the street girls confirms seeing that gas guy hanging around earlier. She thinks he was talking to someone but she didn't see who."

"Fuck it." The other three all gaped at Monet, who had uttered the obscenity. Even in the darkest times and most dire straits she seemed to consider it beneath her to resort to such crude, common language. Hearing her breaking that rule rammed home just how bad things were likely to become.

"Wait- it was you! You killed Stacy!" Julio realised suddenly. Only a meaningful cough and a pointed jab of the pistol prevented him literally leaping at the Chinese gangster and beating him as close to death as he could, consequences be damned. The man for his part looked slightly puzzled more than concerned, and then a look of realisation passed across his face followed by a patronising smirk.

"Oh, you mean the whore- I never saw the point of learning her name when she would be dead within hours anyway. But it was not me who killed her. Why waste my time and effort when I have so many who would do it for me? It just happened the killer happened to have a personal motive as well, which suited my purpose tremendously."

"What personal motive?" Julio asked. He was aware the odds of getting any kind of answer, let alone an honest or useful one, were minimal but it was just possible that in his hubris and smug self-congratulation the gangster might let an answer slip without thinking.

"Really, Mr Richter, I expected better of you! Did you really think I would fall for such a pathetic ruse?" he said, shaking his head regretfully.

"Well, you do seem a generally pathetic kind of guy," Julio began, but then the gun flicked up from its position at his ribs and caught him a glancing blow on the jaw and cheek. Julio felt a tooth knocked loose and spat it defiantly at the man, the action causing a trickle of blood to dribble over his rapidly swelling lip. In the same movement the gun returned to its original location. The pale woman's hand had moved with the speed of a striking asp and the strength of a lunging boar.

"We can avoid such unpleasantness if you will keep a civil tongue in your mouth," Mr Negative told him.

"Fug oo," Julio burbled. He spat bloodily and tried again. "Fuck you, you lowlife piece of-!" The sentence was cut short with a grunt of pain as the barrel of the gun was rapped smartly across the knuckles of one hand with a faint crackling noise. He looked down at the injured hand to see two fingers bent out of shape and a third hanging loosely, clearly dislocated. The pain was intense but he knew it was merely a calling card, a warning from the buxom assassin that she was perfectly willing and totally able to deal out much worse.

"I trust Domino has made her point," Mr Negative said. "It would be much easier for everybody if you accept the deal I am offering you."

"_What!_" Even on a day that had thrown up more unpleasant surprises that he could have conjured in a nightmare, Julio could not help gaping at the sheer effrontery of the man. Mr Negative had had a girl killed, pinned the blame on Julio, kidnapped him at gunpoint and broken his hand... and now he wanted to do a deal? What the hell could he offer Julio that would have tempted him even before he had abducted and tortured him? Mr Negative must have seen the shock on Julio's face and found it highly amusing to judge by his sadistic smile.

"It's quite simple. A man of your talents and abilities could be extremely useful to me. You work for me and I promise you a fair share of the profits and protection from even the most curious and determined policemen, and believe me when I say you will need it."

"Nothing you can say or this sadistic whore can do will ever turn me back to crime," Julio said with grim finality.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," said Mr Negatively carelessly. "The best bit of it is, I don't have to. As far as anyone not in this car right now is concerned, you've already turned... once a criminal, always a criminal, after all."

"What do you mean?" Julio asked. He knew that he was pandering to the man's ego, but he was drawn by grim fascination as to how thoroughly and completely his life had been shattered over the course of one morning. He felt like a bird, transfixed by the stare of a venomous snake: knowing death was slithering ever closer but unable to resist and pull away.

"Even as we speak, the police are on their way to your old headquarters," Mr Negative said. "They received an anonymous tip-off that someone has been murdered there and the death was not reported." His smug grin gave him away- the police might not know who had given them the hint, but Julio certainly did. However, Mr Negative was not done yet; he still had more misery to pile onto his captive. "Maddox and the others will throw you to the wolves, they'll have to. Besides, all the evidence points towards you anyway."

Julio thought this through and realised that evil and manipulative though Mr Negative may be, he was certainly anything but stupid. He recognised that the gangster was absolutely correct in saying that the others would have to tell the police of their suspicions about him, suspicions his sudden disappearance would have done nothing to allay. He would be hounded and harried by the police based on the testimony of his closest friends, but the most sickening thought was that they had no idea they were betraying him; in fact, to the best of their knowledge it was he who was the traitor. Even if Julio managed to escape from Mr Negative and the assassin, Domino, he would be a fugitive, penniless, homeless and with no evidence to prove his innocence. The only chance he had to find a way to prove he was innocent was to accept the offer presented by Mr Negative, or more specifically pretend to accept it. If Negative was behind the whole scheme there was a chance, however small, that he had left some crucial piece of evidence behind that Julio could use. Besides, even if Julio did not accept the deal he would still be in just as much trouble with the police and his former colleagues but would have to stay ahead of them without money or shelter.

"Fine, you've convinced me," he told Mr Negative. "So what does this offer of yours involve?"

"It's quite simple," said Negative. "I have a few shopkeepers and street-level dealers who are beginning to wonder if they need to buy protection from me. I want you to convince them they do. Of course I may require your abilities for more specialist jobs, but we can negotiate that when the situation arises. In return, you get free run of my properties and any resources you require, I can provide. Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal," Julio confirmed.

"So what do you think Richter's next move will be?" Bishop asked. On a day of unlikely coincidences it seemed only fair that one should finally fall in their favour and that the officer investigating them was the one cop who might just give them a fair hearing rather than condemning them out of hand.

"He's not an idiot, if he's working with this Hyde then he must have made sure that he had an escape route, and probably he'll have made sure that he's provided with some protection from the law, and probably us as well," James said. From the minute that Julio's guilt had been all but confirmed, he had been working on this very problem. Julio may have been several steps ahead of them all this time but if James had his way they would soon be making up that lead.

"You think he's done some kind of deal?" Bishop asked.

"He's done a deal."


	10. Chapter 10

**Cortex 10: Out of the frying pan?**

Logan adjusted his jacket and gazed at his reflection disdainfully. Instead of his preferred biker gear, he was instead dressed in black denim, shades and a red headscarf, his general image somewhere between a rock star and a pirate. He flexed his hands experimentally. He had been 'persuaded' to wear fingerless black gloves as part of his disguise, and to his disgust he found he could not use the excuse that they would block his claws to discard them. The one consolation was that his cigar was not just acceptable as part of his disguise but actually added to it, although Ororo had described at length and in eye-watering detail precisely what she would do to him if she found him lighting it inside the mansion. He stumped out disconsolately out of his room and down the stairs to where Remy was grinning up at him. The Cajun was dressed in similar style to the Canadian but managed to pull off the look with considerably more aplomb; the gambler possessed enough innate style that he could probably look cool dressed only in newspaper.

"Lookin' good, Logan," the Cajun smirked at him.

"Zip it, Cajun," Logan growled back. "I don't know why we've got to dress up like this anyway, it's ridiculous..."

"It's simple," Remy replied. "The X-Men go asking questions about some missing girl and people ignore them or blame them. On the other hand, if two fine gentlemen like ourselves were to visit a few bars, maybe overhear a few conversations... well, who'd know any better?"

Logan muttered under his breath and glowered at Remy's back as Bobby shot past, pursued by a furious Rahne. The Scottish shapeshifter was actually in her fully human form but it was hard to tell given her enraged expression and growled words.

"Robert Drake you come back here right now or so help me God..."

Bobby's cackling was cut short as he ran headfirst into something extremely solid. He felt his nose gingerly but it did not appear to be broken. He began to have a sneaky suspicion that a broken nose would have been the last of his problems as the solid object reached out with an arm to grab a handful of his shirt.

"Logan, I didn't see you there," he gabbled as he was wrenched upwards until his eyes were on a level with the Canadian's glower. Bobby gulped nervously, unable to tear his eyes away. Logan addressed Rahne without ever taking his eyes off of Bobby's.

"Icicle giving you problems, Rahne?" he said.

"He won't shut up about me and Jamie," the wolf-girl explained.

"What about you and Jamie?" Logan asked absently. Suddenly he dropped a startled Bobby who fell with a yelp as Logan sniffed the air curiously, specifically in Rahne's direction. He smiled, which was not really much of an improvement on his previous scowl. "Huh. About time, too."

"Go Jamie!" Remy cheered, quickly composing his face into a solemn expression when Logan whirled on him furiously. Bobby was already upright, bruises to his pride and his posterior not enough to keep him down for long. He examined the pair curiously.

"Hey, loving the new look you're rocking Wolvie," he said brightly, not noticing his slip until a low growl from the Wolverine drew attention to both the error and the imminent repercussions, which promised to be painful.

"'Wolvie?'" Logan growled.

"Sorry Wolverine, Mr Logan, sir," Bobby babbled. Remy was enjoying watching the vociferous young mutant desperately hopping from pitfall to pitfall, each deeper than before; it reminded him of when he himself had been a cocky young upstart with a mouth much faster than his mind. Of course, although not quite so young, that description still fitted him rather well; on the other hand he did by now have the skills to back up his boasts. However, Remy was still anxious to get on with the search for Layla. There was an element of selfishness to his plans in that he thought it more than likely that it was only while he could be of use to the X-Men that his presence would be tolerated so peacefully. Still, Remy had found altruism a rather addictive habit. He had not been aware of his own self-loathing until his genuine desire to help another had erased it. If proving he could help and be trusted by the X-Men allowed him to sign on for their cause full time then he would gladly undergo much riskier and more unpleasant missions than this.

"Time's wasting, mon ami," he reminded Logan carefully. He was fully aware that the feral Canadian could just as easily unleash that temper of his at Remy as he had at Bobby, who for the second time in five minutes found himself sprawled on his backside, this time out of shock that he had survived unscathed and seemingly unpunished. Bobby would not be Bobby though if he recognised a karmic hint to keep his mouth firmly shut and true to form, landed himself right back in trouble.

"So where're you going? You trying to find that Layla girl or what?" he asked. Logan forwent the growling and the snarling this time and instead settled for simply staring the young ice-man out. Bobby tried a placatory grin but it was far from convincing.

"You mind your own business," Logan instructed him. "In fact, that's what I want you to be thinking about all the time you're cleaning out the hangar-"

"Aww man!"

"-Every week until I say otherwise."

"Dude, over-extreme much!" Bobby demanded furiously. He should have known better.

"You want over-extreme? Try this on for size-" Logan began but Remy spared Bobby.

"Come on, Logan, we'd better get going," he said pointedly. Logan scowled at Bobby but let the point rest for now.

"Fine," he grunted. "But don't think I won't follow through on that, Popsicle."

He turned and walked off with Remy at his side. It was quite apparent each of them was at best uneasy in each other's company and at worst enraged and frustrated at the company they were forced to keep. However, the two New Mutants could practically (and literally, in Rahne's case) smell the raw machismo and testosterone as two alpha males found themselves confronted by another. The sheer antagonism between the two somehow added an indefinable edge to two already impressive fighters, and Bobby was not entirely sure he was imagining the fact they appeared to be walking in slow motion. The door slammed shut and the spell was broken. Bobby shook his head a few times.

"Man... those two look more bad-ass walking away than I would taking down a Sentinel single-handed." He did not sound upset or jealous; that would be like feeling insecure in the presence of a mountain. It was not possible to measure up on any realistic scale. Rahne on the other hand had been protected by the inner wolf, which recognised and understood the whole rival-supreme-hunter instinct when it saw one and knew it to be a logical, every-day process. She was more curious about what could have drawn them together in the face of their mutual distaste.

"Where'd you think they're going?" she asked Bobby.

"Oh, probably to look for that Layla Miller chick," he said carelessly. For some reason the name struck a familiar chord in Rahne, who was convinced she had heard it before but could not think where or why.

"Who's she?"

"Oh, some mutant girl the main team's looking for," Bobby said. "They haven't actually told us why." He seemed to think for a moment then grinned wryly. "I don't think they mentioned her at all but when you put Jubilee and Kitty in the same room it just sort of happens, maybe it's some sort of girl thing... no offence," he added quickly, mistaking Rahne's puzzled frown for an angry one.

"Hmm?" Rahne said, not paying any attention. She was still turning over the problem of Layla Miller's name and why it seemed familiar. Layla Miller... missing girl called Layla Miller... looking for a missing girl called Layla Miller... She snapped her fingers as it struck her suddenly. "That's the girl those two guys were asking me and Jamie about!"

"So it's true what they're saying about you and Jamie, huh?" Bobby asked curiously. He had of course heard the gossip, given the high number of teenage girls in the mansion it would be nearly impossible for him not to have, but it would give him bragging rights if he was the first to get confirmation from the parties involved.

"Yeah," Rahne said, not really concentrating. "I'd better tell him about this..." She strolled away, seemingly lost in thought. Bobby was about to dash off and spread the word when she suddenly turned around again. Her voice was still dreamy and vague but there was definite steel beneath the velvet. "Oh, and Bobby? You tease us about it and I will personally ensure Jubilee is _extremely _disappointed."

She did not elaborate further and simply ambled away, not even noticing the way Bobby's hand flew to a particularly vulnerable portion of his anatomy as he realised exactly what the threat implied. Sure Rahne was a sweet-natured, devoutly religious girl, but she was a sweet-natured, religious girl who could turn into a wolf, and Bobby would prefer not to risk that side of her following through on the promise.

Logan looked around the bar Remy had lead him to. It seemed to be as he would have expected from any place frequented by the Cajun: run-down, seedy, and with only the thinnest veneer of decency between its status as a bar and becoming a glorified criminal dive. He did not have to exert his superhuman senses very much for his nose to tell the same tale as his eyes, picking up a variety of scents: unwashed human bodies, the tell-tale tang of hidden metal, from the faint hint of cordite he guessed that at least one of the clientele was packing a pistol. There was the familiar odour of alcohol, nicotine and other less savoury and more powerful drugs. He could also make out the scent shared by all mutants that marked them apart from humans, though his eyes could not immediately pick them out; either they had more subtle abilities or were going to impressive lengths to hide their nature. From the suspicious glares fired from all angles at the newcomers he knew that he was not exactly welcome even if he appeared human, revealing he was a mutant would no doubt be too much for some of the thugs and lowlifes around. He was pretty sure he could take most of them even without Remy's help but the professor had repeatedly stressed the need to remain undercover and getting into a bar brawl was unlikely to improve his chances of remaining incognito.

"Classy joint," he muttered out of the side of his mouth to Remy as they made their way towards the bar.

"Well, the idea is to go where you won't stand out too much," Remy muttered back. He sauntered up to the bar and ordered a couple of beers. He leant casually against the bar itself and although his eerie eyes were hidden behind his shades, Logan knew the Cajun was casing the bar and its occupants in the same way Logan had earlier. He also knew what the Cajun's eyes lacked in acuity compared to his own they more than compensated for with his old thief's instinct for noticing and memorising key details in a heartbeat.

"Here... Have I seen you before? You seem kind of familiar," the barman said suspiciously to Remy as he passed across the drinks and accepted the payment. Remy looked around at the barman and smiled his most charming smile.

"I'm afraid not, mon ami. You must have me mistaken with someone else," he said lightly. The barman's piggy little eyes narrowed and his moustache bristled menacingly.

"Nah, I do know from somewhere... that accent's pretty rare around these parts," he said. He did not look like he was about to act on his suspicions and turn the atmosphere from one of apprehension and mistrust to one of violence, but Logan tensed slightly, willing to spring into action in an eye-blink. Remy had other plans though, pushing his shades up onto his forehead. The man's eyes widened as they met the red-on-black stare but then Remy began talking low and fast and the man's gaze appeared to slip out of focus slightly, like those of a man in a daydream.

"You haven't seen me before, you don't recognise me and you won't remember me once I've left," Remy said forcefully. The man looked at him vacantly.

"So sorry, my mistake... mistaken identity... Enjoy your drinks," he said vaguely. He moved off down the bar leaving the two mutants to converse in low voices unheard by any of the other occupants.

"Neat trick you got there Cajun," Logan conceded reluctantly. "How's it work?"

"I figure it's just my natural charm and winning personality," Remy said lightly. Logan snorted dismissively and downed his pint with contemptuous ease. This time it was Remy who sighed and rolled his eyes. Logan put down the empty glass and looked around the bar again.

"So he _has _seen you before?" he asked.

"Mais oui," Remy confirmed. "This is where Layla turned up first, makes sense to check here first."

"Yeah, let's go to the one place where everyone's going to recognise you, that'll keep the disguise working," Logan said. Remy just looked significantly at the barman, who was studiously ignoring them.

"Great, assuming you can repeat the trick forty-seven times..." Logan said. A sudden thought struck him as he suddenly realised why Remy's last words had seemed slightly off. "Wait, you said you met this Layla here?"

"That's right."

"So how did an eleven year old girl get into this place?" He demanded.

"I'm not entirely sure," he admitted. "She said she managed to sneak past the bouncer, but I don't know how she did it."

"Or why," pointed out Logan.

"She knew who I was right away," Remy said. "I just guessed she was looking... for... me?" Now he said it out loud it didn't make much sense after all. She had seemed to know a lot about him, and she had managed to see right through his card tricks, but how had she known his name? And why exactly had she come in at that time at that day when he had just happened to be there? The whole situation was bizarre- the more he thought about it, the less sense it made.

"Must be your natural charm," Logan repeated Remy's earlier words back at him, smirking. The Cajun scowled. He turned his back on the grinning Canadian, who saw the Cajun's back stiffen suddenly as he seemed to notice something. Logan could smell a lie and knew that the other man's shock was genuine. Remy did not turn around but muttered just loud enough for Logan to hear.

"You see the guy just come in? The one with the splint on his arm?"

"I see him," Logan confirmed. The man in question was beefy and slovenly-looking, with greasy hair and an expression that indicated resentment against life in general and his own in particular.

"He was one of the ones who attacked me and Layla in the alley," Remy explained. "That's how his arm got injured."

"He should just be glad it wasn't me he tried that on," Logan growled.

"I was wondering if he saw who it was who came in at the last second and grabbed the petite," Remy explained. Logan weighed up the theory in his head. It was definitely possible that the guy could indeed have seen the real abductors, but on the other hand Logan would not have bet on the guy giving up that information willingly. The trick would be to convince him without blowing their cover. He was so engrossed in the problem that if wasn't for the enhanced strength of his hearing he probably would not have even heard the voices from another table calling to the barman.

"Hey, turn that crap off will ya? No-one wants to hear about that mutant shit!" One of them yelled. It could have been any of them, as they all looked like variations on a single theme; overweight, unhygienic and bigoted. The 'mutant shit' they were referring to was a news story that had just come on the small TV hanging above the bar. Normally it would have been on a sports channel but in the absence of any big games it was instead showing a rolling news channel. Logan wondered if the shouting oafs knew that at least two mutants were in the room, and maybe even at the same table. The reporter's voice suddenly lowered as the volume was turned right down but Remy was close enough to make out what she was saying.

"... and one of the members has apparently gone on the run," she said. A picture of a swarthy, unshaven man of Hispanic descent appeared on the screen behind her. "Julio Esteban Richter is a known mutant, and as such while not armed should be considered extremely dangerous. Authorities strongly recommend calling for police assistance rather than attempting to confront him personally."

"What's the guy supposed to have done?" Logan asked. He found it darkly amusing that this one guy was about to be the subject of a very public, very thorough manhunt while Magneto, possibly the most powerful and dangerous mutant on the planet, was mostly just known as a rumour to the general populace.

"Killed some prostitute," the barman filled him in, apparently still under the semi-hypnotic influence of Remy. "She was a mutant too. Way I see it, they're all as bad as each other- they want to go around killing each other, let 'em."

"You want to know the way _I _see it?" Logan began, half-rising in his seat, but Remy grabbed his arm and pulled him back down, anxious to avoid starting a fight they should avoid if possible. As was often the case, in the absence of new details, the channel resorted to repeating the old ones again.

"For those just joining us: the body of a murdered mutant has been discovered on the property of Cortex Investigations Agency, a free-lance private investigation group. The prime suspect is said to be a Julian Esteban Richter, formerly an employee of the Agency and now known to be a mutant. The founder and leader of the Agency has appealed for calm." The screen cut to footage of a man in his mid-to-late twenties, with scruffy hair and a vaguely haunted expression not helped by the constant flashing of cameras and yelled questions. He spoke in a surprisingly calm voice that Logan suspected was disguising the man's real state of emotion, which would be anything but relaxed. "I speak on behalf of everyone here when I say we are truly shocked by the events of the last twenty-four hours and the actions of Julio Richter, which we do not in any way, shape or form condone in the slightest. We will be cooperating fully with the police to make sure justice is served and ask only that we are left in peace to try and clear the name of Cortex Investigation Agencies."

"That guy looks kind of familiar," Logan muttered to himself. Unfortunately scent did not travel over the airwaves and he was robbed of his best identification method. He shrugged it off; it was not really anything to do with his current mission, and his last flicker of interest in the question was tossed aside as he overheard the conversation going on at the other table.

"I reckon they're all mutants at that place!"

"Yeah, feathers of a bird and stuff right?"

"_I _think they're all covering for him," a third voice put in. This voice sounded slightly less drunk and considerably more educated than the previous two and for that matter any others Logan had overheard in the bar. It was a resentful, jealous voice, the kind of voice that often heralded the start of a fight. "It makes sense if you think about it... This prostitute was a mutant and all, weren't she? Got to be to have anything to do with that lot... so they have her over and do whatever it is mutants do in that kind of situation, one of them gets carried away, and there you go, one dead prostitute."

"Yeah!" said several voices. It did not really make a lot of sense to Logan or Remy but then again they had IQs above room temperature and had not been doing their best to kill off their remaining brain cells via alcohol. Logan could see where this was going, he had seen it before: soon the main voice was going to suggest they go to where these Cortex people were and then-

"The police aren't going to get anything out of them," the voice in question said. "If we want justice we've got to get it ourselves."

-and there it was, mob violence just waiting to explode and set light to the city. Logan growled and had to fight to stop himself extending his metal claws instinctively. He did not know how much was true about whatever this Richter was accused of, or whether the other detectives _were _mutants, though that much at least made a certain degree of sense. However, if things got out of hand then the bigots and the hotheads and the thugs would not stop at just these Cortex people, they would soon decide that if one mutant could commit a murder then by definition all mutants were therefore murderers. In one night everything the Professor and the X-Men had worked for could potentially be washed away on a tide of resentment and misplaced fury. And it was down to him and some shady, unreliable sneak-thief to try and stop it happening. They watched the drunks pile out of the bar before discussing their next move.

"Now what do we do?" Remy said, frustrated. "Asking about a missing girl with a mutant murderer on the loose is not going to go down very well."

"And we can't let those idiots start a fight in the middle of Bayville," Logan pointed out. This seemed to surprise Remy, who looked at Logan as though he had suddenly announced he had two heads.

"We can't?" He said curiously. "Seriously, if those Cortex guys _are _mutants then the only ones going to get hurt are those drunken morons."

"Exactly," Logan said. "If they can't take it out on those detective guys then they'll just take it out on any mutant they can find, and then you're going to get mutants who decide to fight back, and then some punk kid is going to lose control of their powers and _then _things are really going to start going wrong."

"I suppose so," Remy said. He looked pensive. "Is this the way you guys think _all the time_? No wonder you're all so uptight." He stood and started for the door briskly, pulling out a hand of cards and charging them as he went. Logan hurried after him.

"Where'd the hell do you think you're going Cajun?" he demanded.

"To stop them, of course. 'Sides, I've got a score to settle with some of them," Remy said darkly. Logan grabbed Remy's arm and yanked him back around.

"Think about it Cajun! You're not with Magneto any more, that means no more starting fights whenever you want- you've got to think about the consequences, go it?"

"Since when did you become the smart, responsible one?" Remy smirked.

"Shut up," said Logan, who had just been thinking the exact same thing. "Point is, we're going to have to play this one smart. First thing to do is see what those clowns out there try next. The one who got them all stoked up sounded pretty smart- I reckon he's got some kind of a plan. Once we know what they're up to then we can work out how to stop it."

"So we hang around a bit waiting and watching then go in and beat the crap out of them?" Remy summarised. "I'll be honest, that doesn't sound too different to what ol' Bucket-head used to try on you guys."

"Difference is _you're _one of 'us guys' now so you'd better hope this time it works," Logan pointed out. Remy grinned his most cocky grin.

"Of course it will! You've got me on your side now!" With that he turned and hurried out after the departed drunken bigots. Logan watched him go but before following went over to the table recently departed by the would-be avengers. He downed every remaining drink on the table, knowing it wouldn't have the faintest effect on his superhuman metabolism but figuring that the day the Wolverine passed up a free drink was the day the bad guys won. Just as he vanished out of the door, the barman's free will returned in full force without Remy's presence to enforce the spell. He looked around to find the bar empty except for a few hardy souls too drunk or too sensible to get caught up in the violence that was brewing.

"What the hell just happened?"

"What the hell just happened?" Guido demanded.

"I'm just guessing but I think someone tried to throw a firebomb at us," Monet said. "It would explain the whole flaming-bottle-smashing-through-the-window thing."

"Yes, but why? We didn't even do anything!" He protested. The four remaining members of Cortex Investigations Agency were huddled in James' office. They had been ordered there by the police who had stationed themselves throughout the building as soon as the first dozen menacing phone calls had started coming through. Of course, menacing phone calls and abuse were everyday occurrences at Cortex Investigations but when the first rumours of a mob beginning to form had reached police ears they had acted to try and protect what peace remained. It had turned out that this uncharacteristic turn of speed had only just been enough. The police had been here five minutes, and a few minutes after that the fire-bomb had crashed through a window. Monet had hurled it back out before it could catch, which on consideration turned out not to be the smartest move she had ever made.

"You bastards!" a voice from outside harangued the police. "How can you protect them? They're throwing fire bombs at us!"

"_Back_ at you... we're throwing them _back _at you, who threw them first," Guido corrected the shouter, although he knew even if his voice had carried far enough to be heard logic and common sense were not the order of the day. Clearly, defending yourselves and attempting to avoid burning or suffocating were the acts of degenerate psychopaths, or at least they were when it was mutants doing them. A second later the door burst open and a cop dashed in, looking around wildly.

"What happened?" he demanded, seeing the shattered window and shards of glass scattered about the office.

"We learned why we should have gone with double-glazing," James muttered, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from Teresa. "Ow! Well, it's true, that bomb probably would've just bounced off it."

"There's a bomb? Where?" The cop's badge announced him to be a 'J. Wilkes,' and his fuzzy, unconvincing excuse of a moustache could not hide the fact that he was no older than they were, and probably even younger, barely out of his teens. Monet sighed melodramatically.

"Bayville's finest, aren't you? There _was_- past tense there- a bomb, but there now is no longer a bomb, no thanks to you."

"Ah-ah, come on Monet we talked about this- be nice to the little cop, he's only young, it's not his fault he's not very clever," James said patiently. Wilkes was not sure whether the man was being serious or sarcastic, or in either case whether he was reprimanding the gorgeous telepath or mocking Wilkes. The young cop decided to stick with what he knew, or thought he knew.

"How did the bomb get in?" he said. Monet appeared to be losing her temper.

"Through the damn window you idiotic little-"

"But all the protestors are out the front, how would they get around the back?" Wilkes asked, confused.

"Through the side alley and then cut across," James explained.

"They can do that?"

"Look why don't you go and check it with your superior officer?" Guido suggested.

"No," Wilkes said determinedly. "I was ordered to protect you and I intend to do my job."

"I _said _why don't _you go_?" Guido repeated more forcefully. "For the good of your health." He made shooing gestures that just happened to make his biceps flex impressively. Either Wilkes finally took the hint or else his nerve simply failed him, but whatever the reason he turned and scuttled out of the room. Guido heaved a sigh of relief. "Finally!"

He should have known better than to tempt fate. Another window shattered as a second fire-bomb was hurled through. James brushed glass fragments off the shoulders of his long coat. They tinkled merrily as they hit the floor, in distinct contrast to the prevailing mood in the room.

"Yep, definitely double glazing next time," he commented wryly. A groan and a thud caught his attention and he spun to see Teresa sliding down against the wall unconscious, a thin trickle of blood oozing from her hairline, down across her elfin cheeks and to her chin. The bomb had caught her right on the temple and rolled into a corner. Luckily Teresa's forehead had been the right balance between soft flesh and hard bone that the paraffin-filled bottle had not shattered on impact but now there was the soft glow of firelight as flame caught and started to spread.

"Guido, handle it!" James said quickly. "Monet, you get Teresa out of here, I'll be right behind you with Guido."

As Guido quickly extinguished the flames with a few stomps of his dinner-plate sized feet, Monet scooped up the unconscious body of Teresa and flew literally through the door. James moaned as he saw the fragments of ancient wood hanging weakly off the bent hinges. "That was expensive!" he said. Guido lumbered past, and foregoing his usual courtesy did not bother twisting as he exited, his broad shoulders taking out the rest of the door and quite a bit of wall as he went.

"'Was' being the key word," he commented. James grumbled under his breath as he ran past, although as they reached the exit 'past' very nearly became 'straight into.' He managed to avoid flattening himself against the solid wall of muscle that was Guido's back, but it was too broad to be totally avoided and one arm glanced off it. Guido did not even appear to notice, but James certainly had. He cursed as pins and needles ran up and down the injured limb.

"Ah! Son of a-! What the hell are you made of?"

"Shut up Maddox," Monet announced from her position hovering overhead with the unconscious Teresa still in her arms. James kept up his little tirade as he tried to massage some sense of feeling back into his numb arm.

"Easy for you to say Miss Invincible, not all of us can shrug off being hit by a truck, which would probably be preferable to running smack into-"

"Maddox. Shut. Up." Monet repeated, enunciating every syllable with as much force and command as she could manage, which was a considerable amount. James was about to remind her precisely who was in charge here and therefore who exactly got to give the orders, but as his eyes tried to find her they fell upon a sight that was even more intimidating and considerably less attractive: a mob of angry, hateful protestors glaring at them, some waving placards like axes but all seemingly willing or even anxious to attack. What he did not see was any sign of the police.

"Okaaay," he said slowly. "Please tell me I am not seeing a mob twice the size it was ten minutes and without a cop in sight."

"And armed with whatever they can get their hands on?" Guido hazarded. "Or, rather, not armed."

"Yeah, tell me that's exactly what I'm not in fact seeing."

"Don't worry, you're totally not seeing that. Neither am I, it's just a mass hallucination... right?"

A bottle, luckily not filled with paraffin like the ones thrown into the office but still dangerous if the sharp shards caught someone, flew past his shoulder and shattered against a wall. "It's just a very vivid and realistic hallucination all four of us happen to be having at once, or something." Behind them there was a dull roar as something deep inside the building finally caught light and flames spread with hellish speed. Even from where James was standing, he could feel the heat crawling across his shoulders and neck.

"Want to bet?" he said.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks to readers & reviewers. If you're reading and not reviewing, please just let me know what you think, even if you don't like it I would like to know to improve my work. Disclaimer as before, on with the show and look out people because excrement is really hitting the air extractor about now!**

**Cortex XI: Feeding the Lions**

Remy's longer legs meant he had reached the scenes of violence before Logan, but only by a few moments. He was too surprised to make use of those extra seconds to work out exactly what had happened.

"Merde, where'd they all come from?" he demanded. Logan had been around a lot longer and seen a lot more, but even such a jaded soul as his was not beyond surprise, and this certainly qualified. When they had left the bar, they had been trailing a smallish group of thugs so drunk the only people they threatened were themselves. Somehow along the path they had been joined by others, less drunk and equally angry, and the mob now besieging the Agency headquarters could be several hundred strong. What made even less sense than the sudden appearances out of apparent thin air was the question of why. Even when the existence of mutants had first been revealed, more people locked themselves inside their homes or wrote complaining letters to the newspapers than went on the rampage looking for some poor kid to lynch. The fact that one of the mutants in question was suspected of murder probably had something to do with it, but then again the victim was a mutant too and while humanity as a rule could get extremely worked up about the rights and existence of monkeys or dolphins, mutants weren't human or cute enough to be worth that sort of effort.

"Don't know," Logan admitted. "And I don't like it, there's no way this just happened out of nothing." He sniffed the air. Along with the tangible scent of violence and anger there was the rather more prosaic but just as worrying smell of petrol and burning matches and he noticed several of the mob were carrying crude fire-bombs. That clinched it, in his opinion- there was no way your average Joe would up and decide to commit arson, not in circumstances like this. Many of the bombers were young and fit-looking, wearing leather jackets and balaclavas, and the uniform gave them away as the ones either responsible for this flash mob or working for those who were.

"This seems a little too convenient to me," commented Remy, clearly thinking along similar lines. "The news has been out for all of two hours and suddenly there's a mob armed with fire-bombs? There'll be a few guns in there too, I'm sure of it."

Logan could not see any reason to doubt that suggestion. He was too cynical and pragmatic to doubt the evidence of his own eyes; these events, as preposterous and improbable as they seemed, really had happened, the question Logan was more concerned with was why. Clearly whoever had managed to arrange an angry lynch mob at such short notice had power, influence, and the intelligence to use both skilfully. That suggested to him that this mysterious figure must have been expecting this turn of events... or had possibly even caused it. He nudged Remy and whispered his plans into the Cajun's ears.

"We need to get to one of those clowns with the bombs, they seem to know more about what is going on than the rest," he instructed. "But we've got to be careful, this lot could easily turn on us in the kind of mood they're in."

"Okay- sneak into that crowd, hope no-one recognises you as one of the infamous X-Men, abduct a man armed with a bomb from under the eyes of a bunch of his friends, and get him away without anyone getting suspicious," Remy ran the plan through. "That sounds simple enough."

A few moments later, Vincent Horowitz was waiting for the command for the next stage to proceed when his eyes fell on a tall man in a long coat chatting to a shorter, but more muscular man with dark hair and an expression of perpetual cynicism. That was not so unusual; if the plan was working then all kinds of people would be drawn to the scene. However his ears caught part of the conversation the pair were having and that did not promise as well.

"Personally, I don't see what the big deal is about mutants," the tall one said.

"Yeah, they're not so different to us really," the short one replied.

"What gets me is why people hate them so much and keep trying to attack them," the tall one went on.

"I guess some people are just idiots like that," the short one agreed.

Horowitz could barely believe his ears. This pair of chumps thought that they could spout this kind of pro-mutant bullshit right in front of him and he was going to get them get away with it? What kind of an idiot did they take him for? It would probably not have reassured him to know the answer to that last question was 'a very big one.' He started to make his way towards them, but they carried on talking, appearing oblivious to their unwelcome spectator.

"The thing that really gets me is that they think they look all cool in the jacket-and-balaclava get up," said the tall one. "I mean, if you're going to be an A-grade, one hundred percent idiot you may as well be one with style... but no, they have to make themselves look even more stupid than they act."

"Arrgh!" Horowitz could not help an angry growl as he lunged at the tall one, whose short companion appeared to have vanished. It was this kind of do-gooder idiot that really got on Horowitz's nerve- it was almost as though they were _trying _to wind him up! Well, he would soon see to it that they regretted it. He grabbed the tall one by the lapels of his coat and tried slamming his back against the wall. It turned out that the man's appearance belied the fact his lean body was laced with muscle, and Horowitz barely managed to make the man sway, much less travel backwards. Horowitz was too high on anger and testosterone at this stage to notice the fact that the man he was confronting was taller and evidently much stronger than he was, and carried on with his futile attempts at intimidation. "Shut up! SHUT UP!"

"I'm sorry, was it something I said?" The tall man asked innocently. Horowitz growled again and his fist tightened on the man's coat until his knuckles whitened.

"Shut your dirty mutant-loving mouth or I swear to God I'll shut it for you, you mutie-loving, little piece of-"

"I think not," the tall man said carelessly. "And so does he," he added, pointing over Horowitz's shoulder. Despite himself, Horowitz could not help turning around, only to see a fist inches from his face. There was a crunch and a white-hot burst of pain and then he found his legs collapsing beneath him as darkness took his sight. Remy and Logan looked down at the prone body.

"I've seen some stupid people in my time but he's got to take first prize," Remy commented. Logan dragged the body further into the protective shadows of the alleyway. He doubted anyone had seen the brief scuffle but it was better to be on the safe side. Besides, he didn't want the guy to be able to see where he'd been taken.

It was a few minutes before the man woke up, and winced in pain. He had a broken nose, several dislodged teeth and a matching pair of black eyes; Logan had not punched him particularly hard but when your fist is laced with adamantium, most things tend to stay punched. Besides, he was not about to hold back on the account of a scumbag like this. The first thing the man saw on waking up was the grim face of Remy, who was perfectly willing to cause harm to get the information needed. This was soon joined by the equally grim and much less good-looking face of Logan.

"Back with us are you?" Logan asked. "Good... we've got some questions we want to ask you."

"I'd never speak to mutie-lovers like you!" Horowitz managed to say.

"Really?" Logan said. He held up both fists and extended the claws slowly. "Personally, I'm not so sure."

"Don't hurt me please!" Horowitz begged. Like most bullies he was puffed up on his own superiority to his victims, and collapsed like a punctured balloon as soon as he was no longer the biggest fish in the pond. Logan had met plenty of people like that before, and many of them had made that same plea. Occasionally he even let them go.

"We want information," he explained. "You've got information. Tell us what we need to know and we won't hurt you."

"Much," added Remy darkly.

"I don't know much, I'm just a street guy, I don't get told that kind of stuff!"

"Guess we will be hurting you after all then," Logan pointed out.

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you what I know, please..." Horowitz had tears running from his eyes and snot from his nose. He was pathetic and pitiful but neither of the two mutants were in much mood to show pity.

"How did you get so many people to join this protest of yours? Logan demanded bluntly. Remy looked at him sideways; the Cajun was not normally one for such direct speech- he preferred to demonstrate his wit and loquaciousness whenever possible. In this case though, he conceded that Logan's approach may have its benefits. The unfortunate Horowitz was terrified enough that subtle leading questions would fly right over his pale, sweating head.

"I don't know! The boss just told us to get started and he told us more would join as it went on," Horowitz explained. It made sense that the secret behind the scheme would not be entrusted to someone like Horowitz. Remy could be pretty intimidating if he wanted to and Logan was practically barely repressed rage in human form but even so he had broken with depressing ease.

"Who is this boss of yours?" Logan asked.

"Smith, his name is Graydon Smith," Horowitz babbled. Logan stored the name for later reference, but at the time it did not mean anything to him. He shot a questioning look at Remy who moved in less savoury circles and may have picked up some underworld gossip, but the thief shook his head. Horowitz appeared to mistake the gesture for one dismissing his own worth and in an attempt to save his own worthless skin he kept talking. "But he's not the overall leader, he's just in charge of the Friends of Humanity, we're the ones who make sure the mutie freaks don't get above their station." The insult slipped out before he remembered his present company, both of who were glaring at him. "Uh, present company excluded," he said hopefully. "But we don't know who gives him orders. The rumour is that it's some guy called Wing-raarrurgh!" The name went unfinished, as the instant the first syllable left his lips, Horowitz went into convulsions. He slid to the floor where his limbs jerked and twitched and his face twisted painfully.

"What'd you do to him?" Logan demanded. Remy looked both shocked and offended by the question.

"I was about to ask you the same thing!" He said. He looked down at Horowitz who was making strange gagging noises and turning an unpleasant shade of blue, apparently suffocating. He suddenly went very still and the two mutants looked down at the corpse.

"Merde," commented Remy bitterly. Logan on the other hand was staring at the body and apparently exerting his senses. He knelt beside the body.

"He's still alive!" he said. "We've got to get him back to the Institute, Chuck'll be able to scan him if Hank keeps him alive long enough." As soon as the words left his mouth there was the wail of sirens and red and blue light became visible as police cars started to pull up at the scene of the near-riot. Fortunately they didn't pass the alleyway where Remy and Logan appeared to be lurking at the scene of a murder, but they both suspected that that luck would not hold out forever and they had better make a move. Logan was about to heave the comatose body over his shoulder but Remy held up a hand and stepped in. Instead of manhandling Horowitz like a sack of grain, he instead slung one of the man's arms over his shoulder and grabbed a sleeve with the other. Logan saw what the Cajun was trying to do and copied the gesture. They carried the body between them out of the alleyway and right past a police car that had pulled up. Luckily the police were more concerned with a situation that appeared on the verge of explosive violence and paid no heed to what looked like two men supporting a drunk or ill companion. The strange trio limped off into the night streets of Bayville. As they turned the corner, they heard a particularly loud roar from the crowd, of fear or rage or some strange state in-between. Logan paused briefly to sniff the air. He could discern temperament and moods as easily as scents and perfumes and from the sound of that mass yelling he had a suspicion he would not like what he found. He was proved correct- he could make out the smell of anger and the musky scent of nervousness and underlying it all the strange smell he could never quite find a vocal equivalent for, but suggested mood swings and unpredictable reactions that no-one could hope to understand and almost always accompanied mobs like this.

"I hope Chuck knows about this," he commented. "Those poor bastards in there are going to need all the help we can give them."

"Why don't we tell him in person?" Remy suggested. "While your noble generosity is very inspiring I doubt two of us would make much difference."

"Guess you're right," Logan admitted. "Come on, let's get this clown back to the Institute... and he'd better hope we like what he tells us."

_Five Minutes earlier_

"Want to bet?" James asked.

"Sure," Guido said. "But preferably from a safe distance."

The three mutants looked around at the gathered mob. There were far more than they had expected, and for that matter far bigger than they could ever have hoped to predict. Whatever had happened to create this multi-headed monster was much, much bigger than a news story about a suspected murder. Despite several centuries and a distinct lack of pitchforks and torches, the whole scene could have come from a seventeenth-century witch-hunt, angry peasants deciding to take out their fear and frustration on the most convenient minority or local pariah; unfortunately, Cortex Investigations fulfilled both categories. Monet landed and placed Teresa gently on the ground. If the crowd did resort to violence Monet would need her hands free. The Irish redhead stirred feebly.

"Keep it down... I'm trying to sleep..." she muttered. Several of the nearest crowd members edged further forward and began to advance on the beleaguered quartet. They were all wearing the same outfit, balaclavas and leather jackets, which appeared to be an unofficial uniform of some kind. When the foremost amongst them appointed himself their spokesman, it soon became clear who was behind the sudden mob fury.

"Thought you could hide from us, did you?" the man demanded. "You mutant freaks might think you're above the law just because the police are too weak to try and arrest you scum but we're not afraid of you!"

"Really?" Guido said menacingly, beginning to pace slowly towards him. "Because you should be. You really, _really _should be. I could crush you with my eyelid you little runt, you think you're man enough to take on us poor pathetic mutants? Come on then, show me." By now he was right in front of the small group and they were beginning to take in just how big he really was, with the mass of any three of them combined and more muscle in his hands than they had in their entire bodies. He just stood looking over them with his arms folded and laughed scornfully. "Get out of here, and don't come back, or I promise you it will be the last mistake you ever make."

Most of the crowd were backing away now, intimidated by the massive mutant, but the jacketed thugs were beginning to elbow their way to the front of the mob. It was clear who the primary threats were and who had got the mob so fired up. Even so, there were several dozen of the thugs gathered now and they were emboldened by their sheer numbers. The one who seemed to be in charge was convinced they had the numbers to take the mutants, and besides, he could not afford to lose face in front of his assembled followers. He pulled an iron bar from inside his jacket and ran at Guido, but a dark shape flashed past and smashed him off his feet with a crack. Monet did not pause and carried on headfirst into the mob, and with her superhuman speed three more of the thugs were down before they even noticed what had happened to their leader. Guido swung an arm like a tree-trunk and although it was not a particularly good punch with the amount of muscle behind it that he had it was bound to cause some damage. One unlucky thug caught the blow in the face, which vanished in a spray of blood and dislodged teeth. Guido kept going, launching devastating haymakers that more often than not took out several thugs at a time. Monet was surrounded by now but not daunted in the slightest. One thug managed to creep up behind her and tried to hold her arms in a lock, but she simply rose into the air and shrugged his grip off with ease. The thug yelled as he began to plummet downwards but he had fallen barely inches before a slim hand grabbed the front of his shirt. He looked up to see Monet smiling evilly at him then she slung him underhand towards his earth-bound companions. He proved a non-aerodynamic but rather effective projectile, bowling into a cluster of his allies, who tumbled in a mess of tangled limbs and broken bones. She soared overhead and landed behind the main group, and the stragglers suddenly found themselves the front line of defence, a role they proved totally inadequate at as she broke a man's ribs with a neat kick, pivoted in the same movement and rammed her elbow into the jaw of another. He gave a muffled howl and sank to his knees, blood pouring from his broken jaw. Monet was a girl of many talents, the martial art of savate amongst them, and she demonstrated the effectiveness of the kickboxing techniques as she held five men and women at bay single-handed. Some of the thugs turned to attack the threat now at their rear but the rest pressed forward towards Guido and James. Guido now had five or six people hanging off various limbs but from the total lack of effect this had on his speed and ferocity they may as well have been so many paper dolls. He managed to shake his left arm free and used his hand to pluck the foolhardy blonde woman trying to restrain his right arm into the air. He tossed her into the air and lashed out with the other hand, clearing himself several feet to manoeuvre in. He brought both his hands together into a massive cudgel that he swung over his head and into the ground. Shockwaves spread outward from the point of impact and their progress was marked by the yells and grunts of pain as more and more thugs tripped and stumbled. Guido moved towards the heaving mass of bodies that were the thugs trying to attack Monet, casually batting aside the few thugs still standing in his path.

Three of the more cunning thugs had managed to escape the huge mutant's attention and as he waded into the fray advanced towards James, realising he lacked the same strength and durability of his fellow mutants and more to the point was the only thing standing between them and the still vulnerable Teresa. If they could only overwhelm him then they could effectively halve their enemies' numbers with ease. Unfortunately for them they had failed to take into account that there was more to being a mutant than superhuman strength and the tall man who lead the trio was surprised to find himself suddenly being attacked by one of his accomplices, although from the man's baffled expression he had no idea why he was doing it either. Eventually the man was forced to take out one of his own allies, but as he turned back a victorious grin spread across his face. The last of the trio, a hawk-faced blonde woman, had managed to close in on James and the man knew that his ally could take the mutant freak with ease. The woman tried to kick James, who swayed aside and cuffed at the swinging leg, adding to its upward motion and sending the woman sprawling to the floor. Ignoring her, James advanced on the tall man, who snarled and advanced to meet the mutant, drawing a vicious flick-knife from a pocket as he went. He stabbed it towards James' stomach but instead of trying to back away, the mutant stepped forward unexpectedly, and the blow went wide. The man tried to recover and launch a second attack but before he could a fist was jammed into his stomach. He bent over in pain, his chin meeting a fist coming the other way. He staggered backwards, the knife slipping from his fingers but as James advanced to finish him off, arms wrapped themselves around him, one pinning his arms behind his back and the other looping around his neck. He realised the blonde woman had recovered faster than he had predicted and now he was paying for that mistake. He struggled wildly but it was like trying to shake off an enraged anaconda, the woman's strength was boosted by her anger and her grip tightened rather than loosened. The man recovered his knife and grinned sadistically at James as he writhed desperately. The man jabbed at James' stomach but the mutant managed to twist just enough to make the blow slice across his side rather than plunge into his organs. The cut was agonising but not fatal, though he doubted he could pull off the same trick twice. He tried to stamp on the woman's feet but she was wise to the trick and managed to avoid the pounding feet. The man was inches away when James tried to play his last card. It was extremely dangerous and very hard for him to pull off two possessions in such close succession but it was his only chance. As it was, he was unable to grip the man's mind strongly enough to make him abort the blow but he did manage to make the stab a wild and inaccurate one. Instead of James' throat, the knife slashed open the cheek of the woman behind him, and her shock slackened her grip just enough for him to finally burst free. The knife-man's mind was still fuzzy as he tried to dispel the effects of his half-possession and James used the time to punch him viciously just below the ear. The blow turned the man's brain to a haze and his knees to jelly and he toppled like a broken scarecrow. The woman tried to attack James while his attention was distracted but her vision was blurred by her own blood and James had turned and repeated the blow he'd used on the man before she had even managed to raise her fist. She crumpled and finally free of distractions or danger James managed to look around and take stock of the situation. To his left were screams and unpleasant, organic sounds as Monet took on five or six thugs at once. To his right was a scrum of bodies clambering and crawling over something big and implacable. There was a mass yell as Guido shrugged his massive shoulders and sent them all flying. Only one managed to keep his grip and that was just by throwing both arms around Guido's neck. He tried squeezing but he had no more success than he would trying the same manoeuvre on a giant tree. Guido casually plucked the irritant off and tossed him over his shoulder. He began to move towards the thugs surrounding Monet and his approach was enough to break what little nerve they had left. They fled in terror, following the main crowd who had long since dispersed. James heard a noise behind him and spun, dropping into a defensive position, but it was only Teresa stirring feebly as she began to recover. She managed to force one eye open and sheer shock caused the other to widen too as she saw her three colleagues standing around surrounded by moaning, twitching bodies.

"What the hell just happened?" she asked wearily.

"It's a long story," James said, grinning wryly.

Ten minutes later, they were back inside the main office, the fire having been taken care of by the sprinklers in the walls. It was even more crowded than usual as in addition to the four mutants, they had been joined by Officer Bishop. Wilkes was also present, not by invitation but because he had somehow managed to get himself trapped inside by the press of bodies and ignored by all the others. He decided to keep his mouth shut and hope no-one noticed his presence and drew attention to his incompetence earlier that night. Bishop was counting himself rather lucky that the meeting was happening in such a confined space. Certainly it was rather warm, cramped and unpleasantly sticky but it meant the fuming mutants were finding it hard to get at him in their annoyance, getting in each others' way every time they tried. He had to concede that they had a genuine grievance with him, or rather the police force as represented by him; after all they had ended up battling angry mobs outside what was their home as well as their workplace. He had been trying to justify the tardy response of the police force and not making a very good job of it.

"It's not as if they could actually hurt you anyway," he pointed out. This turned out to be a mistake.

"Oh well, that's all right then, never mind the damage to our home and property, any thug with a grudge can do what they want, because it wouldn't _actually _hurt us!" Monet was particularly angry; Bishop gathered it was something to do with a few tears and stains in her blouse, the significance of which eluded him at that moment. It was soon explained to him. "This cost more than you could earn in a month, and those pathetic, narrow minded little thugs _tore _it! Do you have any idea how much it could cost to replace?"

"More than I could earn in a month?" Bishop hazarded. There was a slight edge to his voice that Monet missed but James certainly didn't. Even in what passed for her more pleasant moods, Monet was never exactly humble or even polite, and had absolutely no compunction about complaining about the lower standards of her inferiors, which was not a particularly exclusive list. Mentioning her own wealth and status and denigrating Bishop was not going to endear her or her colleagues to the policeman, and right now Cortex Investigation Agencies needed every ally it could get, particularly in the law enforcement department. James quickly stepped in to defuse the situation.

"I think the point that Ms St Croix is making is that this building took a lot of damage and only our own abilities prevented us from suffering potentially severe injuries," he said calmly. "And it did seem that your colleagues were rather slow to respond and prevent harm to ourselves and others."

"We did not immediately come to your aid," Bishop conceded. "But we were trying to prevent the whole situation getting out of control..."

"Out of control?" Teresa repeated disbelievingly. "I was knocked unconscious! They tried to burn down this building! They tried to stab me and James!"

"They _tore my dress_!" Monet put in, seemingly considering this a much more grievous crime than trifling matters like assault or arson. To her credit, Teresa never missed a beat in her protest.

"And they tore Monet's dress," she added. "I don't think this was ever under control, somehow."

"I don't suppose you ever considered why it was only a few hotheads who actually tried attacking you?" Bishop asked patiently.

"A few who were doing their best to mob me to death," Guido muttered. "I was kind of distracted there."

"Believe me there could have been a lot more if we hadn't dispersed the rest of the crowd," Bishop explained. "As soon as fighting broke out the situation could have turned into an all-out riot."

"As opposed to a localised little riot that only we got the full effect of? Forgive me for not being over grateful," Monet grumbled. James rubbed his eyes tiredly. He did not blame Bishop personally, the cop was not particularly high-ranking and whatever had caused the delay in the police response likely went far above his head. On the other hand, it had been he who had been deputised to explain the situation to them and James was not going to let a personal friendship get in the way of some answers.

"The way I see it, between us and the cops the situation was resolved peacefully... well, sort of. But no-one died, the building didn't come down around us and hopefully we've scared off anyone who was considering trying again," he summarised. Bishop nodded, and so did the other Investigators, rather more reluctantly. James carried on before bickering could begin again. "The problem we have is that the police were too slow to respond and if anything like this does happen again then we might not get so lucky. What we need to know is what happened and what's being done to prevent it happening again..."

"And that is where I come in," a new voice cut in. A tall, blonde woman strode in, apparently oblivious to their gaping. None of the investigators had ever seen her before, and from the bemused expression on Bishop's face he did not recognise her either. Wilkes was looking vacant too, although that seemed to be his default expression and did not count for much. The woman made her way to the centre of the room as though barging into private meetings were an everyday occurrence, and from her next words it seemed that could well be the case. "Valerie Cooper, SHIELD. It seems my help is required."

Even Monet, who was no stranger to hijacking conversations, was left open-mouthed by the sheer effrontery of the interruption. Valerie seemed completely unabashed by the reaction her appearance had caused, making her way through the room and standing behind the desk. She leant forward and placed both hands on the tabletop, like a stern teacher surveying a rowdy classroom. She looked around at them and appeared to take their stunned silence as an invitation to start talking.

"You may think that this situation is under control now but trust me when I say that this is potentially merely a warm-up, and the real trouble is about to kick off... unless you trust me and do what I tell you."

"Now, listen-" Bishop began, one hand subconsciously lowering to the pistol at his hip. Valerie merely sighed and reached into an inside pocket of her jacket.

"No, _you _listen, Officer Bishop," she said, shoving a badge of some kind into his face. He saw the SHIELD credentials appeared to be genuine and shut his mouth mid-sentence. While he may not be saying anything, his mind was still processing recent events. Assuming Cooper really was who she said, that meant that there was even more to this than h had thought. It was one thing for a clerical blunder to delay police response but if someone with this kind of authority was involved it seemed an accident was not the real cause of the delay; there must have been deliberate and malicious planning behind it. Cooper kept talking, explaining the next step. "The police won't investigate this any further, whoever managed to corrupt them will not want anyone suspecting that they've been compromised; the best way is to make sure this whole sorry mess is swept under the carpet."

"The police were compromised?" Bishop demanded.

"Of course they were. We've known for a while but whoever's behind it is very, very good. Until we've got a name we won't have any real chance of stopping them. The most pressing point is what we're going to do with you lot."

"You really think you can just barge in here and tell us what to do?" Monet sounded almost impressed. Very few people ever told her what to do, even James' orders she tended to consider more suggestions than outright commands. Now this government bitch decided she was going to take control of the whole operation without a protest... not if Monet had anything to do with it.

"That's exactly what I think," the SHIELD agent confirmed. "And I suspect Mr Maddox agrees with me."

"As a matter of fact... I do," James admitted.

"WHAT?" The entirety of Cortex Investigations said at once. Monet looked scandalised, Teresa looked confused, and Guido looked shocked. None of them had expected their leader to just give in like that, it seemed far too much like selling out to them, and if there was one thing James was not it was a corporate toady. However, as befitted his position as team leader, he had already accepted the possibility that Cooper was really a SHIELD agent and from there the repercussions and potential outcomes.

"If this gets out, we know for a fact the police won't help us out," he explained. "And the media vultures are already gathering, we won't get any peace from them without help. There's nothing we can do about any of that... without help. Although it does seem remarkably convenient that Ms Cooper here should turn up quite so soon."

"We've been onto this case for months now," Cooper said. "Whoever is behind the police corruption has fingers in more pies than even Carosella could ever eat."

"Hey!" Guido protested, but although Cooper's face remained as remote and unreadable as a marble statue, the joke served to break the tension slightly. James smiled at the taunt but it seemed slightly out of character from what little he had seen of Valerie Cooper so far. He suspected it was a deliberate ploy to try and win them over to her plan and made a note to watch out for other such tricks. Cooper had carried on talking, elaborating and expanding on her plan. "Maddox's right. Frankly, you need our help; otherwise the best case scenario is journalists on the doorstop twenty-four-seven, your enterprise failing completely and mutants and humans both seeing you as the enemy. The worst case scenario is any idiot with a grudge trying to finish what the Lavender Hill Mob out there tonight were trying to start, and who knows? If mutants decide you're bringing too much heat onto the mutant community, well, things could get kind of messy."

"Fine," Monet said bitterly. "Assuming we do take up your offer- and that's a big assumption- but if we do, what's the price going to be? I seem to remember the going rate being thirty pieces of silver."

"There's no need to be so melodramatic Ms St Croix," Valerie Cooper said wearily. "And it's quite simple. We won't interfere with your everyday running at all; you operate as you always have."

"Pull the other one, it's got bells on," Guido said bluntly, summing up the thoughts of everyone in the room. They were not veterans of the secret service but they knew quite enough to know that that offer was way too good to be true. SHIELD was like any other agency in that business, they did nothing purely out of the goodness of their black hearts, or that would not benefit them directly or indirectly.

"We will leave you to do what you have always done, we'll squash any investigations by the press or police and make sure you slip back into your customary obscurity," Cooper said smoothly. "In the understanding that should we require your services in any way then you'll give us what assistance we require."

"What could we offer the best-funded, most powerful, dirtiest-fighting secret service on the planet?" James asked. The 'dirty fighting' comment may not have been the most sensible thing he could have said but the crack about their 'customary obscurity' had stung and he felt duty-bound to respond in kind.

"There are times when there are investigations in progress or people we need, let us say, checking out that we have to deny all knowledge of. It may be of benefit to be able to say we genuinely don't have any of our operatives on the case... but still have someone getting the information we need."

"Basically, we're government stooges now?" Guido cut through the flowery, disingenuous language to get to the real point behind it. Valerie Cooper did not look abashed in the slightest that her bluff had been called.

"Basically..." She repeated. "Yes, that's exactly right. On the other hand, what choice do you have? Even if you do take a chance on handling this yourself, my superiors in SHIELD will not be happy that you decided to turn the offer down and may decide to make your lives slightly... uncomfortable."

"The carrot and the stick," Monet said disgustedly. "I just wish I knew which was which."

"Maybe it's both at once," Cooper said unsympathetically. "The facts of the matter are that you need us, and currently we need you to do something for us."

"We have a very busy workload at the moment, and it's not good business practice to abandon cases halfway through and alienate clients," James said quickly.

"You have one case," Cooper corrected him. "And conveniently, it's the one we have interest in. Find Layla Miller... and bring her to us."

"What could you possibly want with some runaway orphan?" James asked, genuinely curious. He had thought the kind of missions SHIELD would throw their way would be more cloak-and-dagger in nature, quite apart from which the Miller case was not progressing very fast. In fact, it was barely progressing at all, but he didn't think it was a very good idea to mention that now.

"That's not your concern," Cooper said. "All you need to know is that Layla Miller is the down payment on the debt you owe SHIELD. Now are you going to cooperate or are you so stubborn you'll insist on throwing yourselves to the lions?"

"What's the difference?" Monet muttered, but she knew as well as any of them that the SHIELD agent had them precisely where she wanted them and how little they could do about their situation other than accept her proposition. It fell to James to finally confirm the fateful decision.

"I hate to say it, but... we accept."


	12. Chapter 12

**Cortex XII: Sick Minds**

_The Xavier Institute_

The luckless Horowitz awoke to find that his day had not improved in the slightest. He found himself lying on a hard mattress with his head on what was presumably meant to be a pillow, but made out of granite. He could hear an insistent 'beep-beep' and from the sparklingly clean, hygienic nature of his surroundings he quickly surmised that he was in some kind of hospital ward. He tried to remember the turn of events that had lead him to this fate but anything that had happened before he woke up was lost to him. He could remember vague outlines of people and the drone of words, but the specific details remained a mystery. He tried to sit up and get a better look at his surroundings, but he could raise his head only inches before something tugged at his scalp and held him in place. He tried to reach up and pull whatever it was off but his arm was similarly restrained. He managed to raise it enough to see that it was being held by some sort of strap, and a long needle was inserted into the vein in his elbow. Attached to the needle was some kind of tube or cable, and holding it onto his arm was tape of an unusual and highly resistant kind. He tried his left arm instead and found that this one at least moved freely enough, although two fingers were bandaged and bound to splints. He reached across to tug the tape off and release his right arm, but froze as a cultured voice interrupted him.

"I would highly recommend you reconsider that decision, Mr Horowitz," it said. "If you disconnect before we get full readings we may not be able to work out what exactly happened to you, and you may suffer a relapse."

Horowitz twisted his head as far as he could and from the corner of his eye made out a broad-shouldered figure in a white doctor's lab-coat. The coat-wearer turned round and gave his best warm, friendly grin, but being Hank McCoy this revealed too many long, pointed teeth to be very comforting. Horowitz would have screamed but his tongue appeared to have lost all movement and sensation so the sound that actually came from his lips was a sort of panicky wheeze. Hank recognised it for what it was but did not seem offended; his appearance had even scared the X-Men when they first met and they had taken on the Juggernaut without hesitation. He made his way over to where Horowitz lay prone and shone a pencil-sized torch into his eyes, tutting as he observed the results. "Hmm... still slight dilation, perhaps minor concussive effects?" he mused. "Jamie, what are the readings on the MRI scanner?"

"Erm... the thingy's going beep and the picture has gone blue with a red bit on it," a younger voice replied from the other side of the bed. Hank looked annoyed.

"'The thingy's going beep?'" he repeated. "Why do I always get stuck with the stupid dupes? Jamie, perhaps you could take over? No, not you, Jamie, _Jamie_, the real Jamie." Horowitz was completely baffled by this stage. Were there a whole horde of Jamies? Or did perhaps this bestial freak only know one name? Hank himself for that matter was finding the situation rather vexing. "Can't you sort out some sort of system so we know which one's which? It really is most awkward when you all reply whenever I say Jamie..."

"Sorry!" Five voices replied in unison. Hank groaned and Horowitz was more puzzled than ever. It was not so much that there had been five different voices as much as five different versions of the same voice. He had overheard the hairy one saying something about concussion, and knew that after a particularly hard bang on the head people could see double... but hearing double? He'd never heard of that before. There was an extremely unpleasant sucking noise and the sound of footsteps. Finally the younger voice spoke again, this time on its own.

"Looks like everything's back to normal, Doc," it said. "Brainwaves down slightly and there appears to be slight over-activity in the left frontal lobe but he's only been awake a few minutes. I'm pretty sure they'll return to their normal levels given enough time and a period of recuperation."

"Jamie, you're fifteen," Dr McCoy pointed out. "How would you know enough to make that kind of diagnosis?"

"Oh, one of my dupes managed to get himself stuck in here last month, he read all the books in your office. When I reabsorbed him I got all those memories too."

"Really? A happy accident indeed," Hank said. "So what do you think happened to the patient?"

"No idea," admitted Jamie. "I, well, the dupe anyway, got bored by the fifteenth chapter and stopped reading."

"Now _that _sounds like the Jamie I know," Hank sighed. "Can you go and fetch Professor Xavier please? Preferably without breaking anything..."

"Sure!" Jamie rushed off. There was a quiet crash and a distinct 'oops' but he appeared to have caused no major damage, and a few moments later Horowitz saw a bald man in a wheelchair make his way into the laboratory. At his shoulder was a short, grumpy-looking man who seemed vaguely familiar... Suddenly it came back in a rush: overhearing the two and deciding to correct their assumptions, the sudden reversal of roles, the implicit and explicit threats, a strangled confession and then- and then what? After that stage he could recall nothing at all. He remembered his terror at his interrogation, and his confusion upon waking, but the stage in-between was a blur. The bald man was smiling beneficently at him but it was impossible to relax in the slightest with the burly, unshaven demon behind him glaring that terrifying glare.

"Mr Horowitz, I'm glad to see you've recovered," the man in the wheelchair said, apparently genuinely. "My name is Professor Charles Xavier-"

"You're that guy running those X-Men freaks!" Horowitz realised, and in his shock he spoke aloud, an act he soon regretted as the hairy one cracked his knuckles menacingly. Horowitz's shock was real, and intense. The fact he had woken to the treatment of a blue-furred ape-man gave away the presence of mutants but he had had no idea he had been taken right into the lair of the world's preeminent mutant team and as such his worst enemies.

"I train mutants to use their powers for the good of themselves and others, yes," Xavier conceded.

"Want me to demonstrate?" the hairy guy growled, but Xavier held up a placatory hand and the feral ex-weapon subsided reluctantly.

"That's quite enough, Logan," he said firmly. "I don't think Mr Horowitz needs further persuading that his best chance lies in cooperating with us."

"No shit," the street tough said quickly. "Erm, I mean, no kidding... hey wait, how did you know my name?"

"It was written on the cards in your wallet," Xavier told him. "However, I did not need to check it; one of the benefits of being a telepath."

Horowitz tried to recall what he had been told about mutants in the meetings he had attended. Most of it had consisted of repetitive haranguing and ranting about the evils of mutantkind, but he vaguely remembered a more scholarly type running through the myriad ways mutant powers could develop. Suddenly he realised exactly what telepathy involved. "You can read my mind?"

"Oh yes, quite easily," Xavier said. "But I hope it won't come to that."

"I don't," Logan growled. "I want a crack at persuading him myself."

"I'll talk, I'll talk!" Horowitz said hurriedly. On the one hand, he was betraying the vows and oaths he had made to hunt down all mutants and never compromise in the battle to eradicate them; on the other hand, those promises had not been made with a telepath, a furry half-ape and a psychopath with metal claws all staring at him. He doubted Graydon Smith himself would keep his mouth shut under similar circumstances; besides, the bald guy was a telepath, they'd get the info anyway, right? There was no need for him to martyr himself for no reason...

"What do you want from me?" he demanded.

"Any information you can provide will be of great use," Xavier said. "For example, who organised the attack earlier tonight?"

"Graydon Smith, he's the leader of Friends," Horowitz said.

"Who're these friends?" Logan said sharply.

"The Friends of Humanity," Horowitz said quickly. The blue one stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"I've heard of them," he said pensively. "Some kind of anti-mutant organisation, but I was not aware they had progressed to active persecution and violence against mutants."

"We were waiting the best time to launch the attack," Horowitz explained. "Trying to take you unawares and wipe you off the face of the Earth... uh, no slight intended."

You did not need to have powerful telepathy or superhuman senses to know he was lying, and he squirmed under their sceptical expressions. "Alright, so there's the little matter of money. Until recently we hardly had any."

"What changed?" Xavier enquired.

"Well, Graydon managed to get some funding from some big-shot politician or businessman who decided the Friends were a good way to get rid of mutants without getting his hands dirty himself," Horowitz explained. Xavier considered this revelation carefully; it seemed to make sense. Hank was not the only one who knew of these so-called 'Friends of Humanity' and the fact that some shadowy figure had decided to fund them was not a million miles away from his own involvement with the X-Men. That did leave one obvious question, however.

"Do you know who this mysterious man actually is?"

"Apparently his name is-"

"No! Don't answer that!" Surprisingly it was Logan who interjected. Xavier and Hank both looked astonished, and Horowitz looked horrified. He had the distinct impression that Logan had only intervened for some nefarious purpose of his own, not out of any care for Horowitz's wellbeing. "That's what we were about to ask him before he went into that weird fit."

"Hmm... sounds to me like some kind of psychometric trigger," Hank suggested. "As soon as he answers the question or says the name in question, a subliminal telepathic implant of some kind sets off mental disruption."

"Say what?"

"He says the name, his brain shuts down," Hank repeated the same explanation in words Logan may understand. Logan still looked vaguely confused but from the look on his face he did at least catch the drift of the clarification.

"That makes sense," he said unconvincingly. Professor Xavier on the other hand had grasped the concept and its implications immediately and was already thinking of ways to bypass the problems it presented.

"It would take a powerful telepath to create such a strong effect indefinitely," he said. "However, if it depends on his thinking the name or saying it, I suspect it is specifically linked to his own thoughts. I daresay a sufficiently talented telepath could work around such things..."

"You want to try and access his thoughts without triggering the defences," Hank surmised, and Xavier nodded.

"Now wait a minute-" Horowitz began, but Xavier sent a weak psychic pulse that was still strong enough to disable all higher functions of the thug's brain. Only those parts of his brain involved with keeping his body alive were still working; thoughts and memories immediately shut down like a smashed light-bulb. Xavier quickly probed the man's memories for the information he needed. Any telepath could do something similar although very few with such finesse and ease as Xavier himself. And more to the point, any time a telepath linked their mind to another, they left a psychic signature, a trace of that part of themselves that was temporarily connected to the other person. Xavier was powerful and skilled enough to be able to 'read' these signatures and could tell from them the experience and relative power of the telepath in question, their age and even their sex- there was a distinct difference between the traces each gender left behind. For example, Xavier could sense immediately the 'trigger' Hank had theorised about- it was like a tumour of the soul, dark and malignant and alien. A brief scan told him the one responsible was a telepath of great power and vast experience, a man who, if Xavier's powers were as accurate as usual, was well over one hundred years old. That sounded unlikely but the man was a mutant after all, and Apocalypse had been alive in the time of the Pharaohs of ancient Egypt, making this man seem a pitiful child in comparison.

Xavier refined and focussed his powers further, aiming them specifically at the psychic tumour in Horowitz's subconscious. Instead of a single lump, the mass now appeared to be a tangled ball of barbed wire that was wrapped tightly around the subject it was projecting and would rip and tear at both Horowitz himself and anyone else foolish enough to try and interfere. Of course, the mysterious telepath responsible had not accounted for his handiwork coming to the attention of the most powerful mind on the planet, and soon Xavier had picked apart the weave and was unravelling the psychic shell like a man peeling an orange. To the others, all standing and watching their friend and mentor exert his phenomenal power, the entire process had taken mere seconds, so it was with some concern that they watched Xavier's face suddenly lose all colour as blood rushed from it and sweat began trickling from his brow. Logan nearly threw caution to the winds and was about to try and wake Xavier from his trance but Hank grabbed his arm and restrained him.

"Leave him! If he wakes up without fully breaking the link the consequences could be disastrous!" the blue-furred genius warned his friend. Xavier still looked wan and drawn but at least the waxy tone of his skin had receded somewhat and he did not look like a man awaiting the call of the reaper. In the private sanctum of the psychic realm, he was undergoing an experience that compared to none in the mundane world. He had got through to the memories he wanted but for some reason a whole surge of others had also been released like pus from a punctured boil and taken unawares Xavier was unable to filter them safely. His mind was whirling and unbeknownst to him his heart rate had shot up and his body was heaving for breath like a drowning sailor but the effects on his mind were even worse as he tried to cope with the sudden overload: _Wyngarde!-_a man in Georgian dress, standing imperiously- _a group of teenagers throwing stones and insults at a younger girl with pink wings_- a big man, savage even in his dark grey suit, declaiming mutants: "They think to overthrow humanity but I assure you that will never happen while Graydon Smith draws breath!"- _a pretty brunette girl looking up at him in shame and grief the tears running down her face shining rainbows of colour_- a fist punching into a bleeding, broken face again and again and again and again, the face now unrecognisable as even human but the punches still flying- _a sharp pain in the stomach, the wind driven from his lungs and a massive hand backhanding him violently across the face, a shadowy figure calling him traitor and deserter, asking in a sneering voice what he was thinking, how could he sleep with one of those freaks? _- Discussing what the boss could want with this little blonde bitch... know what _I'd _want from her, know what I'm saying? Bit young but hey, she's a mutant so who's going to care?- _A sense of satisfaction as a terrified face and flailing body disappears out of sight, shoved from the top of a building_- The savage in a suit instructing them to dispose of those mutant freaks calling themselves Cortex Investigations, they were getting too much heat on the Layla Miller thing- _a tall, dark man with eerie eyes and a ferocious, unshaven man with claws growing from his knuckles_- then darkness, and silence, except for a name... _Jessica..._.

Xavier's consciousness and body reunited in shock and confusion and if it had not been for Hank's long arms and quick reflexes the bald telepath would have fallen out of his wheelchair in his turmoil. His face was still very pale and drawn and he was sweating like a man who had just finished a triathlon, but he remained conscious and coherent, although his usual loquaciousness was beyond him. "That man... has a...seriously... sick mind," he managed to pant. Logan did his best to hide his concern about his friend and mentor- it would not do his reputation any good if it got out he panicked like any other mere mortal and instead adopted a sardonic smirk.

"No kidding," he said dryly.

"No... I meant in the most... literal sense," Xavier replied, his mind and body alike returning to their usual, more stable condition. "Whoever manipulated his mind was not gentle in doing it. His memory and logic have taken serious damage."

"My heart bleeds," Wolverine sneered. "But you did get the name we wanted right? That's the main thing..."

"Logan, that is quite enough!" Xavier said, unusually sharply. "I do not approve of his actions tonight in the slightest but he has been brainwashed and traumatised even before you and Remy abducted him in your usual fashion. I would have thought you of all people would appreciate how serious this could be."

Logan realised that in trying to cover up his uncharacteristic apprehension he had overcompensated and gone too far the other way. He had to admit that if the Professor was correct, Logan was indeed in a unique position to understand the hapless Horowitz's state of mind, having gone through an even more intense process himself, so much so that only his healing factor and sheer pigheadedness had prevented his total descent into animalistic barbarism. He doubted this would be quite on that scale, although as far as he was concerned, any steps down that path were automatically steps too far. "Yeah, well..."

Xavier recognised that as the closest to an apology that anyone was likely to get out of Logan and swiftly changed the subject. "However, I have indeed managed to find out some of the information we wanted. Mr Horowitz here knows him as Wyngarde."

"Wyngarde something? Something Wyngarde? One name isn't really a whole load of good," Logan pointed out.

"There can be very few extremely powerful telepaths called Wyngarde," Xavier countered. "It may take me time but I will find him. However there appears to be more to the case than this. This Wyngarde's main contact with Horowitz and his... colleagues was through a man named Graydon Smith?"

"Now him I _have _heard of," Logan growled. "He's the one campaigning to make mutants legally dangerous weapons. He wants dangerous? Just let me get my hands on the son of a-"

"Yes, that's him," Xavier said quickly, seeing one of Logan's infamous rants coming on. Besides, he suspected both his colleagues would be very interested in what he had to say about what else Horowitz had unwittingly divulged. "But apparently Graydon Smith has got his people looking for someone." He knew it did not really befit a man of his stature and wisdom to tease and torment his oldest friends in this way but he could not resist a slight dramatic flair. Logan seemed to realise what the telepath was up to and held his silence, and instead it was the normally reserved and urbane Henry McCoy who ended up biting at the bait.

"I assume this person is of particular interest to us?" he said. Xavier managed to keep a smug grin off his face and put his friend out of his misery.

"Indeed," he confirmed. "The girl Smith is looking for is Layla Miller."

"What?" Hank was astounded, an unusual state of affairs. He dealt with science and technology, hard facts were his speciality. Bizarre coincidences and unlikely twists of fate did not fall into that realm, in fact they were the opposite, being nearly impossible to predict and thus hard to prepare for. The odds of Logan and Remy just happening to come across someone who knew the name that the X-Men required but also happened to be interested in one girl with no particular significance were minimal. "But why?"

"I don't really know," Xavier admitted. "Horowitz was not given the specific details of that aspect, he was just sent to cause a distraction of some kind."

"So that whole 'burning down the buildings, attacking innocent mutants and starting a riot' thing was just to cause a distraction?" Logan asked. "Cause that's pretty damn distracting."

"Well, it's not us he was trying to distract," Xavier said. "Their real targets were the people living in the building they attacked, a group calling themselves Cortex Investigations."

"What do you about these guys, Hank?" Logan asked. As the Institute's internet and information specialist and the most common user of the screens and displays used to find out details about various groups and important news stories, it fell to Hank to act as the Institute's equivalent of spy-master, monitoring and investigating this kind of organisation, as he had the Friends of Humanity. To the surprise of both his colleagues though, the blue-furred genius appeared to be at a loss.

"I don't remember reading or hearing about them," he confessed. "But I don't think it will take me long to find out some more about them."

"We've got to know what their stake in this is," Logan said. "Either they know something or Smith and his cronies know something about them."

"I agree," Xavier said. "Hank, see what you can find out. Logan, I want you and Remy to go back to where the riot occurred. Between you, you should be able to find out something."

"I don't need the Cajun to do that," Logan said, scowling. He had worked with the thief, sure, and yes the guy had come in kind of handy once or twice, but that didn't mean Logan had to _like _the guy. Besides, it was not as if Remy could do anything Logan couldn't manage on his own.

"That's as maybe," Xavier said. "But I think he may surprise you."

"You're the boss," Logan said, shrugging. Suddenly he paused and sniffed the air suspiciously. The familiar, wary look that signified his hunch he was being watched swept across his face. The watchfulness passed but was replaced by his characteristic scowl. "Alright, short stuff. I know you're there, so stop trying to sneak around."

"I'm not sneaking anywhere," an aggrieved voice said from behind him. Jamie Madrox walked in, looking slightly annoyed by the slur to his honour. "I was just coming back down to the labs, no need to bite my head off."

"Yeah Logan, you're so paranoid all the time," said another voice. In fact, it was the same voice but coming from another direction, in this case right behind Logan. He turned to see Jamie walking towards him again, but this time from the direction of the store room where Hank kept his equipment. Logan glowered at both Jamies, annoyed with the pair. The dupes smelt exactly the same as the genuine article, making it hard for him to tell how many there were or which was the original. The first Jamie lunged at the second.

"Gotcha! I've been looking for you all over the mansion," he informed the dupe, who scrambled out of the way.

"Let's not be too hasty heeerrreee," the dupe began but his voice trailed off as he was absorbed back into the real Jamie, who winced at the familiar but still unpleasant sensation. Logan looked at him guardedly. So what if he had overreacted slightly, just because Jamie hadn't deliberately been spying on them didn't mean he didn't overhear something significant by accident.

"How much of that did you hear?" Logan demanded. Jamie shrugged.

"Something about Remy being surprising," he said. "I wasn't really paying attention."

Logan stared at him but could not prove any different. It was not as though the conversation would make much sense to the young mutant anyway, he didn't know anything about the riot, or ever heard about Layla Miller, so there appeared to be no harm done. Jamie turned and walked off, watched by the three older mutants. Once he was out of sight, and earshot, they resumed talking about their next step.

"It's too late to be doing anything now," Xavier said. "But from tomorrow I want you both seeing what you can find out. I have a suspicion that there is much more to this than I thought."

Jamie walked down the corridor, thinking very hard about what he had heard. Although in the strictest sense he had been telling the truth when he had explained what he had overheard, in every other sense he was not being absolutely honest. In fact, he had been outright lying. While Jamie Prime, as he thought of himself, had not overheard much more of the conversation, the dupe had been eavesdropping on the whole debate, and when he reabsorbed a dupe he also gained all the knowledge and memories it had accumulated in its brief existence as an independent being. In this case he now knew that the man in the infirmary was called Horowitz, and that he had been present at some sort of riot earlier. He also knew that for some reason the name Layla Miller was very important. For some reason, it seemed to be resonating in the memories of Jamie Prime as well, although he often found it difficult to differentiate between the memories he had in his own right and those gained indirectly by his dupes.

He was so deep in thought that it took him a while to notice the fact that he had accidentally barged into something, which when it gave a surprised cry he recognised to have in fact been a someone. Once his mind had made that connection it began to make more and more: the warm someone had obviously been looking for him, and there had been a definite accent to the surprised yelp... a Scottish accent in fact... someone Scottish, looking for him... there was only one person that could be, it was... his eyes widened as he snapped out of his pensive state and spun around.

"Oh, snap! Rahne- I'm so sorry!" He rushed over and helped her upright. He kept hold of her hand and she seemed in no hurry to let go but there was a definite hint of annoyance to her expression as she looked at him.

"Where were you going in such a hurry?"

"Erm, I was actually looking for you," he admitted.

"Well, you can't have been looking very hard," she said sharply. She saw his expression change to one more befitting a puppy that had just been kicked, complete with wide, forlorn eyes and a trembling lip. He looked so woebegone she soon took pity on him. "I was only joking," she assured him. Her words prompted a smile so wide and happy that she felt her own mouth twitching in sympathy. She wondered how it had come to this: she had always been fond of the young multiplier ever since they had first met, and during the brief time she had been withdrawn from the Institute he had been one of very few to try and contact her regularly. When she had come back, she had barely recognised the boy who had hugged her so happily and enthusiastically even before she had managed to put down her luggage. Ever since then they had been dancing an awkward, nervous dance, both of them suddenly aware of a latent attraction suddenly manifesting itself. Even in the brief time since Jamie had finally worked up the nerve to ask her out she had had the odd feeling she was sailing into deep, murky waters without a map.

"Why were you in such a rush to find me anyway?" she asked. "Not that I'm complaining," she added with a smile of her own, rather wicked and suggestive in a way that prompted Jamie to have to think very cold thoughts to keep his body under control.

"I, erm, overheard some of the others talking," he explained. "They're still looking for that Layla Miller..."

"Isn't that the one those weird guys asked us about?" Rahne asked, instantly making the connection that Jamie had been struggling with ever since he had heard the name. From anyone else that would have prompted feelings of foolishness or inadequacy but from her it only gave him the impression they were two of a matched pair, thinking along the same lines.

"Yeah, that's her," he said, hoping his tone did not give away the fact he had only just worked it out. "I was just thinking... what if it was us who found her? I mean, I've got my dupes who can investigate, you can smell her out or something... we could do it, easy."

"What if it _was _us?" Rahne pointed out. "They'd know we'd been eavesdropping on them, and even if they didn't we'd still be in so much trouble for doing it all on our own instead of going to them."

"But they'd be so impressed with the skill and initiative we'd used that they would stop treating us as kids," Jamie suggested. "Come on Rahney, you know we can do it. And even if we fail we'll fail together!" There was a slightly awkward silence as they both thought about that last silence. Eventually Jamie grinned sheepishly and scratched his head. "That sounded much better in my head," he admitted. Rahne laughed at the mortified expression on his face, but there was no malice in it, she was merely amused and a little touched that he wanted to impress her so much. She thought about it for a while; as dates went it was slightly unconventional but on the other hand, that appealed to her- she had had a rather strict upbringing and remained slightly straitlaced for a New Mutant. Now she could shed that image and spend some time with Jamie in the process.

"Let's do it," she said, smiling. Jamie whooped gleefully and rushed off, muttering to himself about strategies and contingency plans. Rahne followed more sedately, smiling but shaking her head at the same time. Jamie's endless enthusiasm and relentless good spirits were attractive in their way, but she decided that if he really wanted to impress her, he could start by slowing down. He suddenly dashed back and grabbed her hand, dragging her behind him at his breakneck pace.

"This is going to be great!" he said excitedly. Rahne sighed. Slowing him down may prove harder than she had thought.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's note time: Firstly, thanks for reading, and for reviews. We're over halfway there (ohhh livin' on a prayer!) so keep reading people! Also, as several readers have noticed the villain Mr Negative is not mine, he's a Spiderman villain who survived Quesada's epic screw-up so I decided to move him out of harm's way. No Webhead himself, although he may appear in later tales... should I get enough support (*hint hint.*)**

**Cortex XIII**

_An abandoned warehouse, outskirts of Bayville, 2 weeks later_

It seemed almost clichéd- the dusty, cobwebbed warehouse, complete with empty crates and broken windows, the helpless victim bound and blindfolded, shuffling around on his knees as he tried to work out exactly what was happening. He held out his handcuffed wrists piteously and called out to his captors.

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing? Lemme go, man! I've done nothing wrong!" It wasn't exactly the pitiful cries for mercy usually associated with such situations, and certainly the edge to the voice was more apprehensive than outright fearful. He got no reply, but instead of this worrying him it seemed to give him a fresh surge of confidence. His face was practically hidden behind the blindfold but what could be seen of his jaw tightened perceptibly and he appeared to be concentrating on something. Whatever he had been waiting for to happen resolutely failed to occur and he swore viciously under his breath.

"What the fuck? Why aren't my powers work- urk!" He was cut off mid-sentence by the toe of a stiletto-heeled boot, which caught him under the chin and snapped his mouth shut. Taken unawares he was sent sprawling onto his back and the sharp heel was placed on his chest. Just enough pressure was applied to let him know that if the wearer so wished she could drive the heels right through his skin and into his chest.

"The more you struggle, the longer this is going to take," a throaty, female voice informed him. "The inhibitor around your scrawny little neck cuts you off from your powers, so don't waste all our time by trying that stunt again." His hands had unconsciously flown to his neck as his brain processed the words, and sure enough something hard and rigid was strapped to his throat. The heel was pressed ever-so-slightly harder and his hands flopped back to his side instantly. He twisted his head as though somehow trying to make out his captor, apparently recognising the voice.

"Dom? Neena? Is that you?" he asked. His tone was a strange mix of nervous and relieved. Relieved because it was someone he knew, nervousness because if it really was an old friend turned against him then he was in even deeper trouble than he had thought, and that was pretty damned deep. The woman laughed coldly. "I'm Neena to my friends. To you, it's Domino."

"But we _are _friends!" the bound hostage said imploringly. "Please Neena, come on, let me go! We're old friends, we go way back- you can't do this!"

"I think it's pretty obvious that I can," Domino said callously. "Friends, colleagues, associates- whatever we were, that's past now. All you are now to me is a chore. Mr Negative wants you gone, and he tends to get what he wants."

"So just because that arrogant fucker suddenly got bored of me, now you're going to whack me, no questions asked?"

"Well, one question," a second voice cut in. This one was deeper and masculine, and clearly belonged to an accomplice to Domino's kidnapping of the bound man. "'Whacked?' Who says that anymore? I mean, please- anyone still using all that Godfather crap deserves to get, aha, whacked. Seriously."

"Who the fuck are you?" the hostage demanded angrily. It had been the most forlorn of forlorn hopes that he would be able to talk Domino out of killing him, but with a third party involved the chances had suddenly dropped to beyond zero. Whoever the new guy was, he took offence to the hostage's tone and kicked him in the head.

"Show some respect, asshole. You want to know who I am? Fine- I'm the one who's going to kill you, so if you give me any more backchat I'm going to take my time with you."

"If you've quite finished posturing can you hurry up and kill the guy? Mr Negative wants this done and disposed of sometime this week," Domino cut in. The man sighed audibly.

"Whatever. This going to be a gun job or powers?"

"Up to you," Domino said. Neither she nor the man she was talking to seemed concerned in the slightest that they were discussing the brutal and merciless killing of a man who could hear every word of the conversation. The man was now sweating copiously and the handcuffs were jangling as his hands shook in fear.

"What the hell- might as well use the powers then," the man said. "Been a while since I let loose anyway."

"The stop chatting and get on with it," Domino snapped. The man in handcuffs could not see it, but the man behind him took a step forward and stretched out his arms before him, as though he were riding an invisible bike. The air around the man began to shimmer and tremble and then the man himself began to shake and convulse violently. The constant, vicious movement caused almost instant concussion and unconsciousness, which proved to be a mercy as seconds later the man's skull blew apart in a shower of gore and fragments of bone. The killer stepped smartly backward to avoid getting splattered, and Domino took one step to the side which somehow lead to every drop of blood and glob of brain matter to avoid her totally.

"Kind of messy," she commented. The killer shrugged.

"Don't see him complaining," he said, gesturing at the headless corpse, which fell backwards, blood pouring out of the stump of a neck. The pair of them strolled out of the warehouse, discussing the finer points of style when detonating a skull. As they went Domino noticed a camera watching their progress from above the door. She nudged her companion and pointed to the small device.

"You reckon that thing's still working?" She asked. "This place is meant to be abandoned, after all."

"Eh, better safe than sorry, right?" the man said. He pointed a finger at the camera, which began to vibrate before crumpling into its component pieces, which in turn cracked and fractured in midair as they fell. The man turned to where Domino had been standing, but she was gone.

"I hate it when she does that," he said to no-one in particular. Domino herself was not far away; she had simply made use of her companion's distraction to pull out a tiny mobile phone and make a call.

"It's me," she said simply. "Cimetta's dead, Rictor killed him. The reversal was a total success."

_Cortex Investigations Headquarters_

Somehow, this new headquarters just didn't match up to the old one. It was bigger, better maintained and had computer equipment that made the old bases' modern technology look positively antiquated. But that could never come close to matching what for a lack of a better word was the soul of the old building. They had lived and worked there ever since the team had formed, and it had somehow seemed to have been just as much a member of the team as any of the operatives. Possibly part of their misery was down to the regular, weekly 'conferences' James had been invited to, although the invitations tended to be more politely-worded demands than requests. It did not help that despite James' reluctance to have anyone join him in these meetings they were all fully aware of exactly who he was talking to: Valerie Cooper, their liaison with SHIELD and as such their boss in all but name. Nine times out of ten, on returning he would retreat to his office, slamming the door behind him with enough force to make the whole corridor rattle, and although they were too polite to ever comment, the others often noticed a distinct smell of whisky when they entered the room after these meetings.

It did not help the situation in the slightest that they had had no solid leads in the Layla Miller case at all. Not only was it frustrating in its own right, but their success, or lack thereof, was not endearing them to Valerie, who was making SHIELD's displeasure about this state of affairs all too plain. Furthermore there were reports of a spate of bank robberies and midnight raids on jewel-stores and goldsmiths. The perpetrators of these crimes tended to enter and exit via holes in the wall made when the bricks and mortar seemed to spontaneously crumble and collapse. No-one was under the impression that this was a coincidence, and all of the investigators at Cortex had very strong suspicions as to the identity of who was responsible. They finally caught a break when Guido took out his frustrations on a couple of teenage thugs he had come across as they had been tormenting a mutant in an alleyway. One of the thugs suffered a broken arm, three cracked ribs and a compound fracture of his left shin, but he got lucky compared to his companion who was now in traction for at least a month. The mutant they had been goading had turned out to be a tall, scrawny individual with untidy black hair. When Guido had taken him back to the headquarters, he had turned out to be the mysterious Tar Baby, who apparently had a lead on the case.

Currently, Tar Baby was in the tidiest, most comfortable room he had seen for a very long time. As for the bed, well any bed would be an improvement on trying to fashion a pillow out of street rubbish but this was particularly comfortable. Of course, being 'rescued' by someone the size of the proverbial brick shithouse was not going be particularly relaxing- the guy had seemed nice enough but the muscles in his arms had been about as thick as Tar Baby's chest around, so if there was a secondary purpose to the rescue then there was very little that he could do to escape. He sat on the bed and looked around. He did not think that there was any way he could sneak out but it could not hurt to try, just in case. Suddenly there was a rattle as someone turned the door handle and he leapt to his feet, ready for anything. As the person entered, he had to amend that to 'almost anything'- whatever he had been expecting it was not a beautiful, voluptuous girl with dark skin and hair the same shade of black as his own, carrying a tray of food. He was aware his jaw had fallen open and shut it quickly. Monet looked at him in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of a scientist examining a microbe through a microscope, and with about as much warmth.

"Comfortable?" she asked, bored.

"Yeah," was the best reply he could manage. "Uh... thank you."

"You can thank us by telling us what you know about Layla Miller," she told him. He looked blankly at her, prompting her to sigh. Trust that Irish idiot to discover a source that turned out to be absolutely no use whatsoever. Until Guido had chanced across him, Monet had half-suspected that Teresa had actually made her so-called source out of thin air in a pitiful attempt to appear useful. Reminding herself of the words ('be nice!') James had muttered to her as she had made her way down here, Monet reined in her impatience just long enough to give this weird creature another chance. "She was a girl kidnapped a few weeks ago. Apparently you saw something..."

"A little blonde girl?" Tar Baby hazarded. He had indeed seen the kidnap of just such a girl, in fact that was what had prompted his weeks of hiding. If anyone knew that he had seen something he was pretty sure that they would want him silenced. It was just his luck that just when he thought it safe to come out of hiding he came across someone who wanted that information. Then again, they had done nothing to hurt him and as was totally obvious they could do just that if they wanted to.

"That's her," Monet said. She was slightly surprised that he did indeed appear to have useful information but it was important not to let it show, as she wanted him to keep talking. If he did notice, Tar Baby didn't show any sign of it, instead he kept talking, explaining what he had seen. "Yeah, I saw her, she ended down this alley I was hiding in. She was with some tall guy- he had some sort of accent, French or something like that. Then these guys pulled up in a van and jumped them. They beat up the tall guy and then these two other guys came up behind them and beat them up too, then they took the girl and ran off."

"And they never saw you?"

"I'm good at not being seen," Tar Bay said proudly. "Anyways, so the two newest guys grab the girl and start heading off to this car, and one of them says something about some guy called Mr Negative, apparently he was the one who wanted the girl."

"Mr Negative... at least we have a name now," Monet commented, and then added, surprisingly, "Thank you." She turned and walked out, leaving the food behind and apparently forgetting to shut the door behind her. Tar Baby was left behind, grappling with two conflicting impulses. On the one hand, the door was open and no-one was around. He could easily do a runner and no-one would be any the wiser. On the other hand, it had been a long time since he had had a proper, decent meal, and the smell from the tray was making his mouth water. He eventually settled for sticking the food in his pockets and making a hurried exit but just as he was about to do this someone else walked in, catching him lurking over the tray looking guilty. Fortunately for him it was Teresa who had entered, probably the most amenable and friendly of the quartet. She did not seem worried or concerned by his odd actions and guilty expression, instead she smiled warmly at him.

"Just before you leave..." she began.

"... Yes?" Tar Baby managed, still frozen with one hand holding a pocket open and the other holding a couple of sausages. He put the food down hurriedly and straightened up, trying to look businesslike and attentive.

"Oh, it's just I was going to propose a deal with you," Teresa explained. "You seem a pretty sharp kind of guy, so if you do hear anything or any rumours you think we could use then come back any time and we'll make sure it's worth your while." She tossed him the bag she had been carrying. He caught it and looked inside. It was full of clothes and other useful items he may need, all of them much better quality than the stuff he was used to. He looked up at her curiously. There was the carrot- so where was the stick? Teresa seemed genuinely surprised by his apprehension. "It's not going to hurt you," she assured him. Tar Baby was totally confused as to what his next move should be; it had been a while since he had received any act of kindness more warm-hearted than someone tossing him a few measly pennies. In the end he tried to hide his confusion by shovelling the rest of the food into the bag and rushing for the door. As he passed Teresa he threw his pipe-cleaner arms around her for a few seconds then scuttled away. Teresa looked at the doorway recently vacated by her bizarre guest.

"I didn't see that one coming," she commented out loud.

"I didn't see that coming," the dark man said to Domino. They had returned to the base of operations that they used when not on an assignment. It was not just them- the building was a wretched hive of the lowest dregs that the city could throw up. That is not to say that they were all amoral, murderous thugs who would kill for a quarter; many of them were talented, and in their own strange way principled and honourable. They tended not to kill innocents (although there were few enough of those by the definition they used) and in their business they worked for who paid them first, not who paid them most. On the other hand, these individuals were far outnumbered by the rapists and the arsonists and the two-dollar cut-throats, with very few principles of any kind and none that couldn't be bought off cheaply. The strange pair had been walking down towards where their boss was waiting for them when a voice had suddenly called out a name.

"Julio!" The dark man turned in surprise to face the soft, youthful summons. Looking out of a locked room's window was a serious young face framed by blonde curls, staring at him in a way that would have made him uncomfortable if it had come from someone older than twelve. Domino laughed at his confusion.

"You know her?" she asked. Something about the girl's appearance was indeed oddly familiar, but he shook his head.

"Never met her in my life," he said. Domino laughed again and walked off towards the boss' office and Julio was about to follow when the girl called out to him again.

"Julio Richter!" she said, and there was no chance of her mistaking his identity, she knew exactly who he was. The question he was pondering was how this was possible. Her face had prompted a slight tingling at the back of his mind, as though a half-forgotten memory was trying to resurface, but for the life of him he could not recall ever seeing her before. He gave the girl his best menacing scowl but she matched it without even twitching. Her blue eyes gazed back with a maturity and confidence that should be far beyond any twelve-year-old. To his surprise he began to feel the beginnings of unease but he shook it off. There was no way he was going to let himself be spooked by some kid, even a weird one like this.

"This isn't like you," the girl told him confidently.

"Oh yeah, and you'd know _exactly _what I'm like, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she said simply. "I know stuff."

"You want to know what's going to happen next!" he snarled. He was surprised to find himself deeply shaken and unnerved by this bizarre adult-child with her calmness and self-assurance that bordered on the superhuman. Throughout the entire conversation he had had the sensation that he had been the child in the exchange and she had been the older, wiser and more commanding. He himself was not truly aware of exactly he _was _going to do next but in his rattled state he had half-formed the notion that he would intimidate her through physical violence, the one realm he knew for a fact he definitely had the advantage.

"Domino's going to call you on behalf of Mr Negative," the girl said calmly. "Then you're going to spend the whole day wondering what the hell just happened. And when the time comes... you're going to rescue me and take me away from here."

"Why the fuck would I do that?" he demanded angrily, but before she could reply, Domino's voice broke into the strange conversation and derailed the exchange.

"Rictor, get your ass over here now," she said. "The boss wants a word with you."

It was exactly what the girl had predicted would happen. She had even guessed that it would be on the orders of Mr Negative that he would be summoned. It was not a particularly hard guess but for a young girl not even in her teens and held captive in a criminal dive, it was uncannily prescient. Julio found himself wondering what the hell had just happened... then felt blood rush from his face as he realised the implications of the question. Not only had the girl guessed what he would think, she had even guessed the exact wording. Of course, there was the off chance it was a whole chicken-and-egg scenario, with the words in his memory it was to be expected that they would come so easily to mind. Somehow though he doubted it would be that simple.

"Hey idiot! You coming or what?" Domino called again. Julio realised he had been absorbed in his thoughts so long that he had completely lost track of time and his current situation. He thumped the side of his skull with one hand in an unconscious effort to knock the vague, distracting thoughts out.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm there. Give me a chance will you?" He hurried off, knowing without even looking that the old eyes in the young face would be watching him every step of the way. He made a point of closing the door behind him in an attempt to hide from the scrutiny. The office of Mr Negative was Spartan and minimalist in its layout and decor, the only real luxury he had allowed himself was a chess set with pieces that appeared to be carved from ivory. Like every other time Julio had seen the room, the chess set appeared to be in midgame, the pieces never in exactly the same place twice. Who the other player was remained a mystery, but not one too many people wasted time worrying about. All they cared about was that Negative was the one paying them; he could play whoever he wanted at chess as long as the money kept coming in.

"Hey boss, what's with the weird kid down there?" Julio asked as he strolled in. Mr Negative gave him his coldest, most disdainful look and it was all Julio could do to stop his knees buckling under the force of those cold eyes. The Chinese gangster was short and slight in stature but he had an air of confidence and superiority that awed all but the most strong-willed and that reprimanding glare had made much bigger and stronger men than Julio Esteban Richter feel like schoolboys before an angry teacher. Julio quickly amended his question, taking a more respectful tone. "Uh, I mean... who's the girl down the corridor? She's a bit creepy."

"Ah, that would be Layla Miller," Negative said. "She is indeed rather... unnerving, is she not? But I have confidence that she will prove of great use to me."

"Oh... well, that's all right then," Julio said. He hoped that his boss would not take the tone as sarcastic, but fortunately the gangster either didn't notice or simply took the words at face value. Either way, he quickly moved on to the question that had caused him to summon Julio.

"Is Vincente dead?" he demanded.

"As a dinosaur," Julio confirmed. "Bits of brain and blood all over the place. No way is he getting up from that."

"Spare me the gruesome details," Negative said. Like many in his position he tended to be more concerned with the wider, financial and profitable aspects of a criminal gang, and tended to leave the more hands-on, violent aspects of the business to those more suited to such matters. "However, there is something else I wanted you to tell me about."

"If I can help, I will," Julio said sycophantically, prompting Domino to roll her eyes, unnoticed by either man. Mr Negative seemed pleased by the response though.

"Excellent, excellent," he said. " I was simply wondering what you can tell me about your ex-colleagues, the ones calling themselves 'Cortex Investigations.'"

"Bunch of do-gooders," Julio said promptly. "Pretty good with the detective work, but when it comes to a proper fight only Carosella and St Croix are really any problem. Maddox is alright with the hand-to-hand stuff but his powers aren't much good, and Cassidy can be beaten easily if you can find a way to neutralise her vocal chords."

"Indeed..." mused Mr Negative. "So if, purely hypothetically, I was to lure them into some kind of trap then they should not prove too much of a problem?"

"In an enclosed space they wouldn't last long against experienced fighters," Julio confirmed. "We- I mean, they, never intended to get into any kind of fight, we- they- never expected we'd need to."

"I don't suppose they did," Mr Negative said, smiling coldly. "Thank-you, Mr Richter. And for disposing of Vincente, too- he was becoming far too much of a liability."

"Uh, no problem," Julio said. His boss was well known for being grudging with his praise, in fact it was a rare day that anyone earned so much as a smile from him. This degree of benevolence and warmth was almost worrying. Not wanting to push his luck any further, Julio hurried out, followed by Domino. The chalky-skinned assassin swiftly caught up with Julio and nudged him to get his attention.

"The old man's looking pretty cheerful," she commented. "What'd you say to him that made him that happy?"

"Damned if I know," Julio admitted. "I guess he's got some sort of plan against those Cortex idiots."

"You don't sound like you miss them," Domino noted, sounding quite surprised. She had been directly involved in his 'defection' and had since been assigned the role of watching over he somehow avoided or shook off his conditioning and decided to try and escape. He had shown no indication of doing so but it still sounded odd that he should show such disdain for his supposed former friends.

"I don't," he replied. "I haven't, ever since, you know..." His voice trailed off but it appeared Domino did indeed know what he was referring to. The oddest thing was, he was not entirely sure himself what it was he meant. He remembered being a colleague of James, Monet and the others, and he remembered that Domino had helped retrieve him, but at no stage could he remember what had made him change his allegiance. As far as he could tell he may well have been a sort of sleeper agent all along. He noticed Domino had most uncharacteristically let her cold mask slip but before he could work out what the expression she now wore was supposed to convey she had noticed his scrutiny and the veil between her mood and her face was once more slipped into place.

"So, you want to drink way too much and have drunken, meaningless sex?" she asked casually. It would have sounded almost laughable in other circumstances but both of them appeared to be taking it totally seriously, which was only backed up by Julio's reply.

"What, again?" he asked. She just shrugged and he smiled briefly. "Sure- but this time you're buying the drinks."

The strange pair were making their way back down the corridor when suddenly a voice interrupted them.

"Miranda Leevald." The name was all that was given but both of them recognised the voice right away. The unnatural juxtaposition of youthful pitch and adult tone could only belong to Layla Miller. They both looked at her, then at each other, but neither of them could think of any Miranda Leevald they knew. She appeared to know this, or, assuming her reputation was true, had already known it before she had spoken, but seemed unconcerned. "Remember her and you remember it all," she went on. "Miranda Leevald will set you free."

"Oh yeah, that's right and then I come and rescue you, right?" Julio said scornfully. Layla just looked at him and once again it was the older man who broke first. He and Domino both made their way down the corridor once more.

"You know any Leevald?" he asked his companion. She shook her head.

"No. You?"

"Never even heard the name before," he said. "What's the deal with that Miller kid anyway?"

"She's meant to be able to see into the future or something," Domino explained. "Probably bullshit but if it's true and we can get her to look in the right directions as it were... well, you can see why that would be useful."

"Guess so," Julio said. "Screw this- let's get started on the drinking already."

They both hurried away, neither of them seeing the small, resigned smile on Layla Miller's face. She spoke again, this time to herself. "Why does no-one ever believe me? I _know _stuff."

In his office, Mr Negative's face was inscrutable as he appeared to be contemplating the chess pieces as he thought about the situation as it stood and how it could be manipulated to his benefit. On the plus side, he had successfully captured the Miller girl and nothing short of a SWAT team assault would be able to retrieve her. It was true that he had yet to discover the precise mechanics of her power or for that matter even break her to his will, but he had the time, patience and personnel to swiftly remedy that state of affairs. However, that bore problems of its own; namely the fact that none of his rivals were likely to give up trying to find the girl, and if they found out he was holding her here then he dreaded to think what some of the more barbarous and irrational amongst them would do to get her back. Like many gangsters, he cultivated the appearance and reputation of a rich businessman and philanthropist, but unlike many of his fellows, it was a mask few had seen through. If gang war were to break out then it was unlikely he could fight back without endangering his reputation and prestige in the public eye. More pressingly, he had had worrying news about those accursed meddlers of Cortex Investigations. He had been satisfied with the foresight he had revealed in inserting a mole into the group. Many people would have disregarded them as ineffectual, but they were like terriers worrying at a bull; despite the disparity of size and strength they were proving a great annoyance and even verged on a threat. The ham-fisted attempt to crush them had not only failed utterly but had actually made them stronger and more dangerous than before, as they now had the backing of SHIELD.

He had of course come up with a plan to deal with them; it was not in his nature to let even the smallest possibility of a threat go unmonitored and without a contingency plan. He had been considering it for a while; that was the main reason he had solicited the combat prowess of the team from Julio. Outright attack had been tried and had failed; besides, any overt aggression would only alert that fool Cooper and draw the attention of SHIELD, who were far beyond his capacity to handle. His main chance was to crush them decisively and comprehensively; if the whole team could be wiped out he knew SHIELD would not bother trying to avenge or rescue them- once their usefulness was diminished, Fury and his colleagues would happily gloss over the entire matter and deny all knowledge and culpability.

Of course, if he was going to lure them into a trap, he needed bait. After their experiences at the hands of that idiot Wyngarde and his pet thugs it would take quite a lot to tempt them into a rash attack. He contemplated using Layla but if word got out where she was then other factions may intervene and try to get the girl. He was beginning to lose his patience when suddenly he caught sight of his reflection in the glass table. He had the perfect bait, one he knew they could not refuse. He quickly picked up what looked like a mobile phone from his desk. It looked bulky and old-fashioned but that was down to the technology and defences packed inside. Not only was it nearly impossible for anyone else to bug the line, as long as he kept it close to hand it would scramble most other spy devices in range. He would normally leave these kinds of phone calls to a lackey and avoid being possibly implicated, but he wanted to remain in charge of this particular scheme and so had cut out the middle man. After a few seconds the line was picked up.

"Yes?" The voice was distorted and heavily disguised, and when Mr Negative replied he knew his own voice would remain similarly altered. It was a simple and logical precaution to avoid anyone who did manage to overhear the conversation guessing who the speakers were simply from the sound of their voices. "It's me," he said simply.

"Yes, boss?" the voice asked, considerably more respectfully.

"I want those Cortex cretins removed from the field," Negative said. "Initiate the counteraction we discussed."

"Yes boss. What do I tell them to get their interest?"

"I will be in Club Mutagena next Friday at ten thirty," he replied. "I expect that would get their interest well enough."

"You?" No amount of warping could hide the surprise in the voice. "Isn't that a little risky?"

"Of course it is," Mr Negative said smoothly. "But these are bugs I'd prefer to squash in person."

"Well, you're the boss," the voice acknowledged. "I'll get onto it right away."


	14. Chapter 14

**Cortex IV: Breaking and Entering**

_Cortex Investigations Headquarters_

James was in his office again when the door suddenly banged open with enough force to make several of the hinges groan ominously as they tried to hold the door upright. He looked up from the screen of his laptop angrily. He had made it perfectly clear that he was not to be interrupted without warning, or at least he had thought he had. It appeared that at least one of his team-mates had not taken the hint. His scowl was more than a match for Logan's legendary glower and Guido recoiled visibly. He turned and hurried back out, easing the door gently closed behind him. James stared after the massive mutant, completely bemused by the ridiculous pantomime. Suddenly there was a light tap-tap at the door.

"What," he said flatly. He wasn't sure if he was asking what the knocker wanted, or just what the hell was going on; he suspected it was both. He was more surprised than maybe he should have been to see Guido shuffling sheepishly into the office. He sighed wearily.

"What do you want Guido?" he asked.

"It's just, uh, well, we sort of, y'know..."

"No I _don't _know, so I suggest you hurry up and tell me.

"We know where Layla Miller is," the muscle-bound mutant replied.

"What?" James said again, this time more excitedly. "Really?" Then he sat back down, looking sceptical. He remembered the way Guido had veered between excited and sheepish, and guessed that there was slightly more to the story than his friend had initially let on.

"So what's the problem?" he asked.

"What problem? Who said there was a problem? I never said there was a problem," Guido said hurriedly but seemed aware that the game was well and truly up and didn't bother making any more futile attempts at insouciance. "The problem, which I never said there was, but it turns out there actually is one after all..."

James coughed pointedly.

"Uh, yeah," Guido said hastily. "The problem is that we know where Layla is but not where she actually is."

James ran that sentence back in his head a few times to see if he could make any sense out of it. After a few moments he gave up and decided it was just as nonsensical as he had first thought.

"So do we or don't we know where she is?" he said.

"Yes, and then again no, well, basically, sort of," Guido said, displaying his talent for creating explanations that were more complicated than the initial question had been. "We know some guy calling himself called Mr Negative has her, but we don't actually know where he is, or where he's keeping her."

"It's a start," James said hopefully. "Give me half an hour to do a bit of checking, call in some favours, then you'd better get the team together. We might actually be onto something at last."

Within the hour, Cortex Investigation Agency was once more crammed into James' office. He had wondered why the personnel of SHIELD had not managed to find one bigger, as they clearly knew a lot about the team and how it ran, but on consideration found he quite liked it as it was. It served as a reminder of how things had once been, and physical closeness when discussing cases added camaraderie and emotional closeness, something that had been sorely lacking ever since Julio's betrayal had heralded the attack on the old base. James looked at Guido.

"You want to do the honours?" he suggested. "It was you who found out after all."

"I found Layla Miller," Guido said simply. Teresa beamed with joy and threw her arms as far around him as she could, but her arm-span barely reached across his barrel chest. Monet was characteristically unforthcoming with lavish praise, although she did reward the big mutant with a grudging nod of approval.

"How many people did you have to beat up before one of them proved useful?" she asked caustically.

"I didn't beat up anyone," Guido defended himself. "Oh, okay, I did punch that Tolensky weirdo but the guy hops around alleyways eating flies- he had it coming. Besides, that was nothing to do with Layla anyway."

"I guess that makes it okay then," Monet said dryly. "So where is the precious little moppet? She's been giving us the run-around long enough- I just want to get this over with."

"Ah," Guido said nervously.

"'Ah?'" Monet repeated. That had not sounded positive and she did not like negative news, unless of course it was her breaking it. Guido scratched his head nervously.

"The thing is... I don't actually know where _exactly _she is," he confessed.

"Colour me surprised," Monet sniped. "Actually- don't, because I'm totally not."

"So what _have _you managed to find out Guido?" Teresa butted in. She could see the despondent look on Guido's face and if in cheering him up she could score a point over Monet, well, so much the better. "It's much better than anyone-" she glanced pointedly at Monet "-else has managed."

"Someone calling himself Mr Negative abducted her," he explained. "Well, actually he got someone to do it for him. He's some kind of crime boss, but he's got some great PR people, cause as far as the rest of the world knows he's this self-made millionaire who patronises several charities."

"How are you so sure he isn't? I mean, if these cover-ups are so good..." Teresa queried.

"Because one of the charity organisations he was involved with was called African Peace Ambassadors," Guido explained, his voice unusually bitter. The faces of all his team-mates suddenly darkened with anger and acrimony as they all recognised the name instantly.

"They were the ones running that blood diamond smuggling ring," James said.

"That's the one," Guido confirmed. "And, well, the rumours going around about this guy are too widespread not to have some kind of basis in fact."

"What else do we know about this Mr Negative?" James asked. "We had any... dealings with him before?"

"Not that I know," Guido said. Monet ran back through her near-faultless memory in case she could attach the name to any previous cases, but it came out blank. Guido carried on talking. "Of course, it's totally possible we did and didn't even realise, I mean he was behind that diamond smuggling gang and we only just found out. I'm sure that he's got fingers in plenty of other pies if we could only prove it."

"I'm assuming that 'Mr Negative' is an alibi?" Teresa put in. "Because if he was born with a name like that it's no wonder he turned out evil."

"He was originally 'Miss Negative' but when he got to those difficult teenage years, he had a few, ah, gender issues, and well..." Guido explained. He remained pokerfaced and his tone was so matter of fact that even Monet, with her telepathic powers, was not entirely sure whether he was joking or not. James on the other hand realised that Guido had resumed his role of team prankster and decided to step in regarding explaining the information.

"Mr Negative is the name he goes by in his criminal dealings," James confirmed. "His real name is Martin Li. To the world at large he's a businessman, dealing mainly in exotic goods the general market doesn't normally sell. Unfortunately the Negative codename is so solid that even the police are able to conclusively link it to Li, according to Bishop anyway."

"So how do we know that they really are the same person?" Monet questioned. "I suddenly have a mental image of us trying to arrest a genuinely law-abiding businessman and making ourselves look even more ridiculous than normal."

"Because both Bishop and Jess Jones agree that Negative really is just a codename," James said. "There are all kinds of stories and rumours, and plenty of evidence. Unfortunately none of it is the kind of evidence that would hold up in court."

"So we have this gangster who employs mutant thugs and is powerful enough to hold off the Bayville Police Department with ease... and _we _are going to try and beat him?" Monet summarised, not sounding impressed.

"That's right." James' tone of voice made it sound so easy.

"And how exactly do you propose we do this?"

"By the seat of our pants and a whole lot of luck," James said. "It's always worked before- why mess with a winning formula, right?"

"Because it's stupid, bound to fail and completely predictable," Monet said.

"_I_ like it," Guido said.

"You would," Monet said darkly. Teresa found herself somewhere between the two opposing points of view. James had a point when he said that their plans often involved considerable good fortune, but he was equally accurate when saying they often worked. Besides, despite his affable nature and easy-going demeanour, there was a very sharp mind lurking behind the facade, and she suspected he already had a slightly more complex and cunning plan than simply relying on good fortune. On the other hand, although Teresa was loath to admit it, Monet also had a good point. There was only so far their luck could be stretched.

"So what's the actual plan?" she asked. To her mind, this was the make-or-break question. If James could prove he had thought this through and come up with a rational, feasible plan, then she would go through with it; he was the leader after all. On the other hand, if he really did intend to try and bluff and chance his way through then she would have to pull out. It was common sense, really.

"If we can catch Negative at one of his hideouts then we should be able to pull a Liebewitz on him, get him out of there and find out what he knows and where he's keeping Layla," James explained.

"Liebewitz was a has-been, his security was nothing special," Monet countered. "Negative's going to be surrounded by lackeys and bodyguards. Besides, even if we do get him out of there it's going to be much too high-profile for us to cover up like we did with Liebewitz."

"Too high profile for us, yes," James conceded. "But I'm pretty sure SHIELD can take the heat."

"You want to get SHIELD involved in this?" Guido sounded disbelieving. "It's bad enough we took their money, do we really have to owe them a favour on top of that?"

"We owe them jack shit," James countered. "They want Layla, then they'd have to get through Li anyway. This way not only do they keep their hands clean of the whole thing they also get a chance to take down a dangerous and influential crook. If you think about it, they'd owe _us _the favour."

"That's actually quite clever," Monet conceded; from her that was the highest praise he could hope to earn. Guido and Teresa also looked very impressed, but of course Monet was not one of the world's natural optimists and was already looking for flaws in the plan. "Of course, there's no guarantee that Cooper will actually go along with this."

"As a matter of fact... There is," James said happily. "I've already gone through it with her. She's agreed to cover up the mess afterwards but no SHIELD personnel will get involved in the actual raid, they don't want to be too blatant in their... sponsorship of us."

"That's as maybe, but somehow I doubt that Mr Li is going to be accommodating enough to advertise where and when he's going to show his face at one of these criminal hideouts of his," Monet countered.

"True," James countered. "Fortunately for us, we're not the only ones with our eyes on Mr Li. The police have kept a tail on him for a couple of years now; they know where he is at most times. If it wasn't for him having one of the most soulless, evil, expensive but unfortunately incredibly successful team of lawyers licking his ass they'd have collared him ages ago. We on the other hand don't have to worry about that kind of thing thanks to that nice Ms Cooper and her friends in high places."

The other members of the detective agency thought through this plan carefully. Considering that he had had less than an hour to come up with this plan and run it past SHIELD to get approval, it was a remarkably clever and probably successful plan. In fact it was almost too good to be true. While James was no idiot by anyone's standards, he was not renowned for his ability to conjure up master plans on a whim. However he had come up with this particular ploy, it had clearly taken him more than a half an hour's worth of thinking and phone calls.

"How did you manage to come up with something like that so quick?" Guido demanded, speaking for both the girls as well.

"I've been thinking about it for a while," James admitted. "Well, not Li specifically, but ever since SHIELD decided we were working for them I was trying to work out how to make that work in our favour."

"How unusually foresighted of you," Monet deadpanned. James seemed totally unphased by her rudeness. That was not particularly surprising though- he had been around her quiet long enough to know that she considered good manners as something similar to bargain shopping- good enough for the common crowd but far below her personal standards.

"I've got a few ideas about how to pull off the capture itself," he said. "As soon as Bishop tips us off about when and where to go, this is how it's going to go down..."

_The old headquarters, Bayville_

Remy and Logan were doing their best to blend in to the crowds. Even several weeks after the riot had been dispersed, morbid curiosity and an irrational interest about mutants drew people in to the scene. Logan was sure there were more than a few journalists amongst the milling people; somehow he could pick up all sorts of facts about people purely from their scent, and the distinctive stink of the Fourth Estate was all over the scene. What they wanted he did not know- the mutants were long gone. Unfortunately they were interfering with his own plans, albeit unwittingly. He and Remy were also trying to find some kind of clue about either the mutant investigators or the ones who had attacked them, but if they showed too much interest the journalists would be onto them like bloodhounds. He did not doubt that someone, somewhere in the crowd would have a video camera available and that within hours the faces of himself and Remy would be plastered all over the news, as would their interest in the building and its former occupants. That would only serve to tip off the very people they were trailing that they were being followed and that would do no good at all.

"I still don't see why you don't let me break in," Remy complained. "No-one would ever see me- I'm way too good for that."

"Can't chance it," Logan growled.

"It's no chance, mon ami, its pure fact," Remy said confidently. "I don't want people seeing me, I don't get seen."

"Fine," Logan finally gave in. "But not now- wait til there're less people around."

"What's this? The infamous Wolverine's turning into an old woman?" Remy taunted him, but the Canadian did not rise to the bait. The Cajun thief slumped back in his seat in annoyance. He was adamant that his thieving skills were more than up to avoiding the attention of a bunch of tourists, hell, he'd back himself against a similar number of wary cops. The way he saw it, the wasting time was pointless, and time that could be better spent tracking down Layla. He was about to try another jibe when he noticed Logan's head had suddenly snapped up and was looking at someone in the crowd. Although Remy hardly knew the feral Canadian, he recognised the intense eyes and taut muscles that always accompanied Logan's sudden hunter's instinct firing up. At these times he resembled a wolf far more than a wolverine, but either way whatever had got his attention was soon going to regret it.

"What's the matter?" Remy asked sharply. All the humour was gone from his voice and was replaced by excitement and even a little exhilaration. After days of inactivity and waiting around for things that never happened it seemed he might finally get to see some action at last. Logan did not look around and spoke from the corner of his mouth.

"Tall woman in a jacket and cap, standing by the lamp-post," he muttered. Remy's sharp eyes picked out the woman immediately. She was dressed casually but had an air of watchfulness and barely-restrained anger, an impression the short, business-like cut of her hair only added to.

"I see her," he said.

"She's part of the same outfit as that Horowitz guy," Logan said. Remy didn't see how he could be so sure. He knew that Logan's nose was impossibly acute but it seemed improbable he could tie this woman to an organisation of some kind simply by smell.

"You sure?" Remy couldn't help asking.

"Oh, I'm sure alright," Logan growled. "This nose doesn't lie. She's in on it."

"So what do we do? We going to grab her like we did that other guy?" Remy asked. His speciality was thieving; something like this was more in the line of work of his hereditary enemies, the Assassin's Guild. Logan on the other hand was in his element. Exactly what he had done and gone through at the hands of Weapon X was a mystery, but the skills he had developed in those dark days were never forgotten: assassination and abduction were second nature.

"No, she probably can't tell us anything we can't get out of Horowitz. But she might be able to lead us to where these assholes are all coming from," he said. "Time to see if you've got the moves to match your mouth- we've got to try and follow her... without her knowing."

"Oh, come on- I could do that with my eyes closed," Remy protested.

"Yeah, well, keep 'em open. We want to know where she's going."

"She's not going anywhe-" Remy began. "Hey, where'd she go?"

The woman had vanished as abruptly and as completely as if she had been a teleporter like Kurt. Even Logan seemed confused at first, then a grim foreboding settled over his face as he picked her up again, heading off down the street at a brisk pace. "She's got military training to pull that trick," he said. "So don't get cocky Cajun cause this girl's way above that idiot in the infirmary."

Remy did not grace this wisdom with a reply, instead he moved off in the direction taken by the woman, who was still walking as fast as was possible without raising suspicion. Logan had to admit that Remy was indeed very good at shadowing someone without giving himself away. If Logan hadn't known that Remy was a lying, manipulative thief he would not have taken the tall, lean stranger in the long coat to be anything except another average tourist. He soon joined the Cajun and they strolled along, apparently two friends shooting the breeze amicably. Thanks to Logan's enhanced senses, they didn't have to rush or look for the woman- they could track her every step with ease. Although both of them were smiling cheerfully, the light tone of their voices belied the dark nature of the conversation.

"How do we know she's even going back to this base of theirs?" Remy asked.

"She was on some kind of patrol," Logan replied. "So either she saw or heard something or it's just time for someone else to take over- either way, she's heading back home."

"Why not just make a phone-call?" Remy queried. "That way there's no chance of anyone doing, well, what we're doing now."

"Good question," Logan said. As soon as he had come up with his theory he had already started analysing it and picking out the flaws and further questions it provoked. Although he could not be certain, he had come up with an answer he thought was the most likely. "If we know they were behind the riot, I'm pretty sure other people will as well. Whoever is behind this is clearly not stupid-he'll know that they're being watched. Only way to avoid phone lines being tapped is to not use them. It's much easier and safer to do it in person."

"That makes sense," Remy conceded. "You clearly put a lot of thought into this," he couldn't help observing. He noticed the quick flash of anger and pain the words brought to Logan's face but for the life of him did not know why this might be. Logan's cryptic answer did not do a lot to clear the situation up.

"Seen it before," he said vaguely. Remy was sharp and quick-witted but it would have taken an idiot not to guess that there was much more to it than that. Fortunately, Remy was also clever enough to know this was one matter you did not want to press.

"What's the plan when we get there then?" Remy said instead. "If this is as secure as you say they aren't going to let just anyone inside, there's no way they'd let us in."

"They won't have any damn choice," Logan said angrily. "I've got security clearance right here." He held up his hands meaningfully. The middle of the street with multiple passers-by was not the place to extend his claws but the point was clear. Remy didn't like the sound of that much. He was not overeager to exert himself right after his recent injuries, and if this woman really was military-trained then he would not have bet against others in the organisation having similar expertise, and quite possibly weaponry to match.

"Are you sure that's the smart plan?" Remy asked. "It's not like I'm afraid to fight but I can't say I'm liking the odds here."

"We aren't going to just walk right into the middle," Logan assured him. "We just need to know where they are and then we'll see just how good at breaking and entering you really are."

"How good I am? I'm the best in the business, that's how good I am."

"We'll see." Logan didn't let it show, but now he was beginning to wonder if Xavier hadn't suddenly developed precognition as well as his telepathy. The insistence that Remy came along had originally seemed intended solely to annoy him now seemed a stroke of genius; Logan might not like the Cajun thief, but if it came to breaking into a guarded, hostile building then Remy was probably the best choice of anyone at the mansion to accompany him. Not only did he have experience and expertise in this kind of situation, it also meant Logan did not feel any pressing need to look out for his companion like he would a student or team-mate. The Cajun could look out for himself, and even if he did get taken down... well, it wouldn't worry Logan too much. The two of them slunk around a corner and watched their target walk up to a building that looked pretty much like any other. Someone greeted her at the door, but instead of an usher this was definitely a guard of some kind. Logan's nostrils twitched as they picked up a familiar tang: gunmetal.

"They're armed," he muttered to Remy, who simply rolled his eyes. The way the cards had been falling for him lately, that was about as lucky a break as he could have expected.

"Quelle surprise," he mumbled. "So what are we going to do?"

"We need to find a way in," Logan said. "There's got to be some kind of entrance around the back somewhere." The guide-slash-guard had disappeared from sight again, and the woman was nowhere to be seen either; presumably she had checked out and been let inside. They made their way across the street. Remy was already weighing the building up, analysing potential entrances and exits, cross-referencing it with similar structures he'd broken into before. It was not what he had expected. He knew they were hardly to be hanging 'Kill All Mutants!' banners out of the windows but this seemed to be just like any other five-storey office in the neighbourhood. No doubt inside there would be more intricate and devious security, but he would worry about that when he got there. They made their way around the back of the building, too quickly for any security cameras to get a clear image of their faces, and crouched behind some kind of massive crate that smelt of cordite and steel, presumably holding more weapons. Remy had managed to scan the building in a few moments and was already weighing up options.

"We want to get the top, oui?" he said. "So it makes sense to get up as high as possible before actually getting in. Problem is we don't know the layout inside, or who's going to be there."

"I assume you're going somewhere with this?" Logan asked.

"Of course," Remy said. "Merely thinking out loud, is all. The way I see it we've got to go quick to avoid the cameras getting any good shots of us, and so no-one out on the street notices something wrong. The guys on the inside aren't going to want the police involved any more than we are, so we can rule that out." The Cajun paused for effect. "We do this fast, and efficient and we get the hell out. Agreed?"

"No arguments from me," Logan agreed. Despite what many people thought, he hated violence, hated it the way only someone who had far too much of it ever could. He had suffered it, seen it, and knew that in the past others had received it at his hands. His reputation for brutality and fabled appetite for conflict were nothing more than a side-effect of the way that fate kept throwing more violence his way. He could run and he could hide, but his brutal past would never truly leave him alone- it was the main reason for his feud with Sabretooth, the personification of that past. "How do you propose actually doing it though?"

"Like this," Remy said. He had already managed to obtain a replacement for his staff, which he now withdrew from his coat and extended to its full length. He took a short run up, then placed one end on the crate and vaulted gracefully up into the air and used the momentum to propel himself through a window. Within seconds, Logan could hear the sound of shouts and conflict. Although he would never admit it to the Cajun's face, he had actually been quite impressed by the manoeuvre. Even without metal coated bones he doubted he could ever match that kind of grace and athleticism. He jumped up onto the crate and then pulled himself up onto the windowsill Remy had crashed through. He could see the tall Cajun battling three guards singlehanded and apparently winning; he could also see a petite young blonde sidling towards the gambler's back. She looked fresh-faced and innocent, and seemed to be dressed like a secretary or junior aide, but the gun she pulled from her pocket shattered that image. He threw himself towards her, but she moved with uncanny speed, whirling, raising the gun and firing in one instinctive movement. Logan howled as the bullet seared his ribs but it barely slowed him, much less stopped him. He batted the gun aside with one hand and brought the flat of the other against the side of the girl's head. There was a loud 'clunk' and she dropped instantly, unconscious.

"It's the Wolverine!" someone shouted, and instantly Logan knew that at least part of his suspicions must be correct. He had barely been there thirty seconds and they had identified him, in the middle of a massive brawl no less. Whoever these people were, they were not as innocent as they tried to appear. A burly man punched Logan square on the jaw, the corridor being too crowded to bring the bulky gun to bear, but Logan simply took the blow square. He felt as much as heard the man's fingers snapping like straw and gave the man his best feral grin. "My turn." He punched the man so hard he was lifted off his feet and thrown against the opposite wall. Logan had decided against using his claws, as dead bodies would cause far more problems than needed, and it was not as if his bare fist weren't more than adequate weapons in themselves. He saw Remy flick the end of his staff up between a guard's legs. The man collapsed, gasping and Remy looked around to where Logan was standing. The Cajun pointed at something behind his feral companion but before Logan could work out what was being indicated, hands grabbed his arms. He could smell at least four or five people behind him, and that seemed to correlate with the number of hands trying to restrain him. He braced his feet and threw himself backwards, the opposite direction to that his assailants had expected. They were all thrown to the floor but while Logan rolled to his feet in the same movement, his attackers were slower to recover. Two punches took care of the first two to try and stand, and the third lurched to his feet just in time to be kicked in the stomach so hard he left a dent in the wall at the point of impact. Logan turned to see the last two guards. One threw himself desperately at Logan, who knocked him out almost casually, but it had simply been a diversion to allow the other guard to retrieve and aim his gun. He pulled the trigger frenziedly but nothing happened. He looked down at his gun in shock only to find everything beyond the finger-guard had been sheered clean off. Logan raised the claws menacingly and smirked at the guard, who turned and ran- headfirst into Remy's raised staff. He fell pole-axed and suddenly the brutal fight was over. It could not have taken more than a few minutes.

"We've got to keep moving!" Remy called. Logan scowled briefly. He was completely aware of what they should be doing, he had been doing it before the cocky young thief was even born, and it annoyed him that he had somehow lost the upper hand in their dynamic. He still moved though- there was nothing to be gained by personal animosity getting them both captured or wounded. Remy bounded up the stairs and kicked open a door. Logan burst in afterwards to see Remy holding three glowing cards in a menacing fashion. His target seemed unworried, and it looked like it would take a lot to worry him. Despite his expensive-looking suit and ostentatious accessories, there was something distinctly animalistic about him, a tiger in a diamond collar.

"What the hell is the meaning of this?" the man demanded. To hear him you would think the trespassers were a bunch of overenthusiastic teenage protesters, not a pair of dangerous mutants.

"Who's paying you, Smith?" Logan demanded. He knew the man had to be the infamous Graydon Smith, leader of the Friends of Humanity and noted anti-mutant campaigner. If Horowitz was right, that made this man the leader of whoever had attacked Cortex Investigations, and therefore their link to who was behind the kidnapping of Layla Miller but also whoever was funding the Friends' latest campaign of violence.

"Get out of my office or I will call the police in," Smith said calmly. Logan was pretty sure he was bluffing but just in case he wasn't rammed his adamantium claws through the intercom on the man's desk.

"Want to try that again?" he suggested.

"You break in here, attack my employees and threaten me- do you really think you will just walk away from this?" Smith tried again.

"Employees who carry around guns," Logan shot back. "Besides, we have a witness who will gladly tell us everything and anything we want to know about what you're really up to."

"You're bluffing."

"Want to call it?" Remy stepped in. He was twirling the cards in his fingers. Smith looked at them both and decided that he couldn't risk it. If they were telling the truth, his whole operation could be brought down. Even if they weren't, Logan's reputation preceded him, and although Smith didn't recognise the tall one accompanying the Canadian, he did not look like the kind of man to be taken lightly.

"I'll tell you what you want to know," he said finally. "But you leave us out of this from now on. You cause problems for us and we can sure as hell cause them for you."

Remy was about to protest but Logan put a hand on his chest to quieten him. "Deal... but we find out what we want directly."

Remy was not sure what that meant until Logan pointed at the laptop on Smith's desk. "Download everything, names, numbers, the whole lot. We'll look through it when we get out of here."

Remy sat down and began tapping keys furiously. The Thieves Guild was ancient but not antiquated, and knew to move with the times. Stealing information, computer hacking and internet piracy were just as much part of thievery as the old-fashioned breaking and entering routine; besides, Remy had used the equipment Magneto had provided, and compared to that this was simplicity itself. Logan held Smith in place with the threat of his claws as Remy worked, and before long Remy had managed to send a copy of every file on the laptop to the computers at the Institute. Once he was done, he turned and nodded to Logan.

"Listen," the Canadian said, prodding Smith with the very tips of his claws. "We're leaving, and if you've got any brains you're going to just let us go. If you don't..." He didn't finish the threat, but he didn't have to. There was the physical menace of the metal claws but also the unspoken danger of the downloaded files, not to mention the 'witness' Logan had mentioned earlier. The two mutants had him bound with several different ropes, and they all knew it. Despite this, Smith made a valiant attempt at defiance.

"This is not the end of this, mutant scum."

"Is that so?" Remy asked dangerously. "I guess that means the only question is who will be ending who?" He tossed the charged cards onto the desk. Smith cringed instinctively but they simply fizzled harmlessly before they landed. Remy laughed at the man's discomfort then turned and walked out of the office. Logan retracted his claws very slowly, drawing the maximum discomfort from Smith as he could, then followed the Cajun. Smith heard a yell as a fanatical but misguided man tried to slow the two mutants down, then a crack as the man was swatted aside contemptuously. He considered his options. He could call his paymaster and explain what had happened, but that would probably cause more problems than it solved. For one thing, he did not relish the prospect of admitting that two mutants had taken on his entire staff and won, nor did he think the news of just how much information had been stolen would do him any favours. He was still sure that the X-Men would be crushed easily if they tried to take on his benefactors, and there was no point interfering in that little brawl. Besides, he had money and weapons provided for him, and it was not as if there weren't other people who would be interested in the services Smith and his followers could provide- he had heard rumours of some crazy but immensely popular televangelist trying to whip up a modern-day crusade- Strider, Stryker, something like that. Yes, he decided. It was definitely time he was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER XV: A Familiar Face**

_A flat in Bayville_

Julio Richter opened his eyes to find himself lying on the floor. One side of his head was pressed against the floorboards, so he had only one eye to try and work out where he was, and more pressingly how he had got there. He recognised the carpet, and then as his eyes adjusted the wallpaper too; both were of a shade he detested and were so horribly familiar because he spent his free time living here. His free hand groped around until it finally fell upon the bed and he managed to haul himself halfway upright before the effort got too much and he had to sit down with a groan. After a few seconds he managed to stand up fully and look around. As he had guessed, this was indeed the bedroom of the flat he was staying in. A dark-haired, pale-skinned shape was lying on the bed, wrapped in the bedclothes. He recognised Domino instantly and that answered a lot of questions at once. It was no real shock that he had ended up on the floor after all; Domino's tastes in bed tended to the violent, and he had quickly learned she rolled around and thrashed about even in her sleep, apparently in the throes of some terrible nightmare. Nightmare...? Why did he find that familiar? He had vague memories of a bad dream of his own, but as was often the way he found the details slipping from his mind like sand through fingers. He stretched, or at least attempted to; he had to stop with a grunt when several muscles in his back protested, and he felt several scratches in his back flare up. Yeah- definitely Domino's work, he thought. It was not that he particularly minded the nature of their arrangement- in fact he rather enjoyed it. He just wished that he had some sort of healing factor to recover a bit quicker the next morning. He hobbled over to the window and opened the curtains, muttering curses to himself as the sun hit his eyes.

He briefly contemplated waking Domino but ruled it out. She was not by any means an early riser and tended to make her displeasure obvious, and often painful. He made his way towards the shower in an attempt to clean himself up a bit and maybe wake up fully. One arm was particularly sore, and as he passed a mirror he took the chance to examine it.

"... The hell?" he muttered to himself. There was a bite-mark clearly visible in the flesh of his shoulder, deep enough to still be visible this long after the event. Domino must have been in a particularly... passionate mood. He splashed some water in his face and, finally feeling human again, made his way to the kitchen. He was making himself some coffee when he heard someone else walk in. It was Domino, looking just as dishevelled as he felt and wearing nothing except a t-shirt she must have picked up off his floor, but she somehow managed to look incredibly good.

"Give me some," she said, pointing at the cup of coffee. Julio passed her the full cup and started to make another for himself. That was almost polite by Domino's standards and also as close to praise for his prowess as she ever gave him. He grinned to himself. Their relationship was one of convenience rather than affection but the old Richter magic still had its sparkle. Domino sat down opposite him and stared at his face. There was not the fondness of lovers the next day or the horrified shock of a one night stand, instead there was just curiosity.

"Did I do that?" She asked, pointing at his cheek, which was bruised and sore-looking.

He shrugged. "Must've done, probably when you kicked me out of bed."

"You're not worth keeping," she told him plainly.

"I love you too," he quipped. Her nightmares were a subject not to be touched but he couldn't help a slight curiosity. "Do you... do you always... sleep okay?"

"Of course I do- don't flatter yourself big guy."

"No, I mean even on... other nights... do you wake up and suddenly think you're forgetting something, like a bad dream but you can't remember the details?"

"What's it to you?" she said bluntly.

"Oh, it's just that it happens to me," he explained. "I always see these faces in my sleep, they're saying something but I can never remember what it is. When I wake up I always remember seeing them but not what they looked like."

"Save it will you? You've only got one thing I'm interested in and it's not your dreams," she said. Something about her tone made him suspect he was onto something, but also that it was futile to pursue it further. Domino was the closest thing he had to a friend in Negative's gang, albeit in a rather twisted way, and he didn't want to jeopardise their relationship, or at least what passed for it. He was still bemused about his own dreams though- although for the main part they were blurry and indistinct one face kept coming back into focus: a girl with dark hair and scaly skin. What the importance of her was he did not know but nor did he doubt it was somehow significant. He shook his head. There was no point worrying about dreams and portents when he had work to do.

_The Xavier Institute, the previous night_

Rahne and Jamie were in the main computer room, scanning the internet for some small detail that could make a big difference in their little quest. Jamie had already come up with a dozen plans that were elaborate and exciting, and Rahne had shot them all down. Jamie's enthusiasm was infectious and appealing but he very rarely bothered thinking through all the implications and ramifications of a plan before discarding it. Rahne was more level-headed and rational and one of the few people Jamie would listen to when in a particularly excitable mood. She had been the one to come up with the more pragmatic and practical plan of simply searching the internet for information on these Cortex people. Admittedly it hadn't actually worked, but then Jamie's daring side had kicked in again as he had come up with their current plan: use the institute computers in the basement. Not only did they have all sorts of information stored, they also had ways of searching that bypassed the limitations of normal computers.

"Are you sure we won't get in trouble for this?" Rahne asked for the twelfth time in as many minutes. She had had too traditional and strict an upbringing to be totally relaxed about breaking any rules. In fact if anyone other than Jamie had suggested it she would probably not have gone through with it at all.

"Nope," Jamie said cheerfully. "But it's much more fun this way!" He had sent a dupe down here before to assist Dr McCoy so had a good knowledge of how the machine worked. He was pressing buttons and flicking between sites and screens almost as fast as Rahne could read them. It seemed he already knew what he was looking for though and was simply trying to find it, as he gave a triumphant cry and paused on a certain screen. Rahne was not sure why.

"It's a blank screen," she pointed out. Jamie smiled.

"Only until I do... this." He pressed a button and the screen suddenly revealed itself to be a professional-looking website with a banner reading 'Cortex Investigations Agency' running across the top. Jamie quickly scrolled through it, looking for something important, but Rahne was worrying about another problem.

"Why would they try and hide this?" she asked.

"Oh, they didn't," Jamie said without looking around. "It was screened by an outside source, quite a high-security one or something; it's why it didn't show up on the normal computers. Only this thing has the power to crack through it."

"And that's a good thing how?" Rahne asked. "I mean, if someone wanted it hidden or protected, we could be in a lot of trouble if we get caught."

"And if we don't we won't," Jamie pointed out. "Don't sweat it Rahney, I've got it made."

"I've heard that before," Rahne sighed. "Like when you broke the Professor's wheelchair."

"Well, okay, but-"

"Or that time you managed to set fire to Dr McCoy's medical supplies."

"That was a fluke chance!"

"And when you managed to lock the Danger Room into Level Ten runs..."

"Logan healed, didn't he?"

"Point is, are you absolutely sure you know what you're doing?" Rahne concluded. There were plenty of other incidents she could have brought up that but she thought she had proved her point. Jamie obviously thought so too, as he was looking distinctly sheepish as he recalled the various disasters he had managed to cause. He managed a confident grin though, determined to impress his girlfriend. "I was young and stupid then," he said, as though fifteen years gave him sage wisdom and experience. "I know what I'm doing now, there's absolutely, definitely no chance of anyone finding us down-"

"Is there someone down there?" a new voice asked. Jamie was about to call back 'no' but Rahne elbowed him in the ribs just in time. Fortunately Jamie had had enough foresight to lock the door from the inside, so although the handle rattled briefly the newcomer (Ororo, as far as they could tell, although her voice was muffled by the door) could not get in. Apparently the locked door and lack of noise convinced her she had imagined things and they heard footsteps moving away.

"You were saying?" Rahne said archly.

"Well, she didn't actually _find _us, did she? She just sort of guessed..."

But Rahne was not listening. Jamie was relieved she had dropped her interrogative intentions but also quite surprised; when Rahne decided to tell someone off she did not do it by halves and it could take five or ten minutes of nonstop lecturing before she was convinced they had taken the point. He turned to see what had distracted her and found her staring at the screen in shock.

"What?" he asked.

"Look," she said simply. He followed her line of sight and felt the blood rush from his face in shock. Staring back down at him from the screen was... him. After the initial shock wore off, he began to notice the differences between him and the image on the screen: the other him had a firmer jaw-line, slightly fuzzy and unshaven, and a slight bump in the nose as though it had once been broken. The hairstyle was different too- longer than his own and more dishevelled looking. It was the eyes that were the main difference though; despite being the exact same shade of brown there was a hardness and cynicism directly contrasting his current indefatigably upbeat nature. Despite these differences, it was hard for him to not see this image as him, ten years from now. He scrolled down to see what name this mysterious man went by.

"James Maddox?" He said disbelievingly. Even the name was almost the same as his. This was truly bizarre. It had to be a cousin or a brother or something, but why had he never found out about it? Why would his parents hide something like this from him? Was the other him a mutant too? He found his legs had given out in surprise; luckily he fell into a chair, slightly less luckily the chair had wheels and he skidded across the floor with a yelp and a crash as he hit the wall.

"Who is he?" Rahne asked wonderingly, gazing at the image on the screen. She was just as surprised as Jamie by the similarity of this 'Maddox' to him, but unlike him found the surprise rather pleasing. If this _was _what he would look like given time, she could not honestly say she wasn't looking forward to it. Jamie was grumbling as he made his way back over, kicking the chair before him.

"I'm fine, thanks," he said pointedly.

"If he's with these Cortex guys and they're also looking for Layla Miller..." Rahne mused aloud.

"No broken bones, only a bit of bruising. I got off rather lightly really," Jamie went on.

"Do you think we should mention this to the Professor?" Rahne wondered.

"Not caring I can deal with, but I would have preferred it if you had at least noticed," Jamie said sharply, wondering what planet Rahne was on. He had overheard the older male students grumbling about the unpredictability and strange fixations girls sometimes went through but he had somehow thought Rahne might be different. Apparently he was mistaken. "I mean, if the dupe hadn't taken the worst of it..."

She suddenly looked around and saw him leaning on the desk for support, his hair tangled and messy and a purple-yellow bruise was spreading along his left wrist. He flexed his fingers experimentally and winced, but he could move them without too much pain and it did not seem the damage was severe. Rahne seemed surprised to see his bedraggled state.

"Are you alright?" she asked, concerned. Jamie sighed. Rahne had never been as ditzy as Jubilee or Kitty but he supposed it was a girl thing to space out at random moments. He did not see it as anything to get too worked up about. For one thing, he suspected Rahne would win any fight between them, and for another there were more pressing questions to be answered, namely: why was him-but-older working for a mutant detective agency.

"I don't think we should take this to the professor," he said, picking up the conversation at a mutually understandable point. "He'll want to know how we know about him, and then we'll have to explain what we did and then we'll be stuck in the Danger Room until this time next year. Besides, we wanted to find something out ourselves didn't we? I guess this just adds to the mystery..."

"Have you been reading crime novels again?" she asked wearily.

"Dupe did," he explained. "But besides, you've got to admit, this does make sense. We're looking for Layla Miller, they're looking for her too _and _they are lead by some guy who looks just like me."

"That doesn't actually make any sense at all," Rahne pointed out.

"That's the point I'm making," Jamie said. "Badly, but... this can't all be chance can it? There's something going on here, there must be."

"If we don't know who it is, then maybe this guy will," Rahne pointed out.

"Yeah, and he _is _a detective, so if he doesn't know, maybe he can find out," Jamie said excitedly. "We've just got to find out where they are..." He pressed a few buttons but every combination and new idea was met with a screen reading 'access denied.' He eventually managed to narrow it down to somewhere in Bayville, which made sense considering they had been accosted by members of that team before in the area. He tried to find out more about the others, for example whether they were mutants and if so what powers they had, but the computer was getting less cooperative all the time and all he managed to get was names: Monet Yvette St Croix, Theresa Cassidy, James Maddox, Guido Carosella and another, but for some reason the last was blurred out. He could make out a J and an R, but that was all. Not that it helped anyway; without pictures the names meant nothing.

"How do we find them now?" Jamie said, angry. "I don't suppose you could trace them from where we met those two guys before?"

"After several weeks, with no idea what scent I'm trying to find and with hundreds of other people crossing the path? Not a chance," Rahne said sadly. Jamie sighed. He hadn't expected it to be a viable option but it was still depressing to have those doubts confirmed. He couldn't help but find it ironic that the person he was trying to trace was in fact a private investigator, and therefore someone ideal for this very task. He suddenly had the idea to try and recall the memories of the crime-novel-reading dupe. Maybe one of the ideas the novels' protagonists had come up with would be of use to him. Although he had the memories of every dupe he absorbed, the memories were not technically his in the traditional sense. Instead of simply trying to remember something, it was more like searching through a library: narrowing it down slowly- section, then aisle, then the book itself. He managed to locate the memories he was after.

"That's it!" he said excitedly. "I've got it!"

"Got what?" Rahne said. She was not allowing herself to get too excited yet, having had far too much experience of Jamie coming up with genius ideas or world-shaking revelations only to forget them again almost instantly. Sure enough, his face went blank momentarily, but then he managed to recover.

"We've got to contact them," he said. "Even if they don't tell us where to find them, we can use the number to track them down."

"Good plan," Rahne said. "Although there is the ever-so-slight problem that we can't actually get the number. The site's blocked."

"Watch and learn, Rahney," Jamie said, wiggling his fingers mysteriously. He pressed a few buttons and the screen flickered briefly. He repeated the process a few times and then began scribbling furiously. He read the number back to himself. It was a Bayville number, he knew that much, but he didn't immediately connect it to a more specific location. That was not a problem though; he could do that later.

"How did you do that?" Rahne asked, totally confused. She knew there was more to her boyfriend than was first apparent, in fact there were a lot more _of _him than a stranger would ever guess, but this was a surprise, even to her, who knew him as well as anyone.

"Oh, it's this computer," Jamie explained. "It's beyond advanced; it's easily a decade ahead of the standard market, outside of SHIELD I doubt there is anything than can break the, well, shields like this thing can. I don't think even Dr McCoy knows what it can do."

"But you do," Rahne observed. She had also noticed, but not mentioned, that he never normally spoke like that. It was overly formal and if she was honest probably a little too clever for his usual standards. She guessed that it was remnant of a geekier, more computer-literate dupe surfacing briefly. It had happened before with other facets of his personality. However, that did not explain how even if the computer _was _able to break the most complex, advanced computer defences on the planet he was still able to not just use it but master it.

"I've had a dupe down here before once or twice," he admitted. "Actually, quite a lot more than once or twice, I lost count after the first dozen. Most of the time Dr McCoy's been using it, but I, well a dupe, was watching him, and on a few occasions they've been able to use it alone. It's like I've had a _lot _of practice without the real me ever using it before."

He was grinning widely, clearly very impressed with his ingenuity and expecting her to be equally amazed and awed. Instead she was giving him a look that was somewhere between sad and angry and all the worse for the combination. His grin faded quickly as he looked at her.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"I'm disappointed," she admitted. "I mean, you've been lying to Dr McCoy, the professor... it's not something I can ever approve of."

"I'm sorry," he said. His face was once again in the puppy-eyed, lip-trembling remorse he always wore when reprimanded, but Rahne did not think he was being false or manipulative; when his emotions could literally take a life of their own it was not a real surprise to find they could change rapidly and unexpectedly. He was genuinely repentant, too; he had really thought he had been quite clever in his plan, and that maybe if he showed some true inspiration and intelligence Rahne would be able to fully dispel the image of him as the baby of the Institute for good. Rahne felt like her insides had turned to hot butter, all warm and melting- she never could resist his woebegone face for long.

"Well, don't do it again," she said weakly, unsure about what her next move should be. Jamie hugged her tightly and they found themselves closer, in the literal sense, than they had been ever since they had started their relationship. Both of them were unsure of what the next move should be. In a movie this would be the cue for five minutes of passionate kissing, but in the movies the hero was not an inexperienced, insecure boy and the heroines were never chaste, puritan girls with the reactionary guilt of generations instilled at childhood. They both edged backwards but not so far that Rahne slipped out of Jamie's arms completely. Jamie had no desire to say anything to make him look stupid, so resorted to saying nothing whatsoever and simply looked at the pretty girl in his arms, whose deep blush only made her look more beautiful to his eyes. He offered up a silent prayer to any passing deities then risked leaning forward and planting a kiss on her lips. It was more of a peck than anything really, but neither of them knew the other had felt an identical bounding sensation in their chests. Jamie was about to try again when the mood was broken- by him.

"Woo yeah! Go me!" A voice cheered him on. They sprang apart and looked across to see a dupe frozen halfway through a rather inappropriate gesture. It was the dupe created when Jamie hit the wall and in his confusion he must have forgotten to reabsorb it. He quickly rectified the situation and sucked the dupe back up but the moment had passed and now Rahne was blushing so furiously she had nearly turned crimson.

"So... the address," Jamie quickly changed the subject.

"Yes, the address," agreed Rahne, equally quickly. "Let's find the address."

"Yes, let's," Jamie babbled. "Well... yeah... I'll go and, and, go and... Find it. Yeah. I'll go and find it, is what I'll do, now. Yeah."

"I'll... not. I'll just wait here," Rahne suggested. "While you go... somewhere else... and find the address... in the other place."

"Good plan. Well... bye." Jamie ran out of the room with nearly superhuman speed, both of them so embarrassed and awkward the entire room appeared to be a cringe given four walls and a ceiling. He did not pause until he nearly ran into someone; in fact it turned out to be two someones- Ray and Tabitha.

"Watch it, pipsqueak," Tabby said affectionately. "Where'd you come from so quickly anyway?"

"Uh... computer room." Jamie was too embarrassed and surprised to come up with a believable alternative, and it was not as if either of the older mutants were known for their rule-abiding nature and were in no position to criticise him for being off-bounds.

"Oh right," Tabby said. "When you didn't show earlier we just wondered where you'd gone."

"Yeah," agreed Ray. "Hey, you didn't happen to see... Rahne... anywhere... have you?" His voice slowed down as his brain caught up with his mouth and he made the connection, and soon both the older New Mutants were grinning at him and he felt himself blushing yet again.

"No!" He said, much too quickly. If Ray or Tabby had had even the slightest doubts, now they were fully convinced they had caught him out. The fact that they were actually completely correct did not make Jamie feel any better. However, instead of shocked Ray was looking respectful, and he thumped Jamie on the back in a congratulatory fashion.

"Dude's a player," he said, grinning. Tabby laughed.

"Just be glad it was us who busted you not Logan," she said, smirking at Jamie's mortified expression. Jamie supposed that much was true, although Logan had been gone for several days now. If he did find them then he would probably be able to smell that Jamie and Rahne hadn't been up to anything, at least Jamie hoped so. Although Logan did not have a problem with the older mutants dating he seemed to have a protective spot for Rahne, whose powers were quite similar to his own, plus Jamie's hated reputation as the innocent baby of the Institute would probably work against him. He hurried away, and the two older students walked off, discussing the latest turn of events. Jamie and Rahne's budding relationship was not news to anyone, but this latest development was the gossip equivalent to gold dust- priceless if played right.

Jamie grabbed a phone directory and began looking through it, then on an impulse thumped a fist against the wall a few times. Several more dupes all appeared, each of them also holding the thick book of phone numbers. They all began searching through their copies, but it was the original Jamie who found what they were looking for. He matched the number to an address and then noted the address. He began reabsorbing all the dupes, but had to resort to a jumping tackle to catch the last one, who had attempted to flee.

"Rahne? You still here?" Jamie called down to the dark room he had last seen her in. He had an uncomfortable feeling that she may have been sufficiently shocked by his forwardness and impropriety to run away until she got to grips with her emotions. She was by no means prudish, but the majority of a childhood had been spent as the ward of a puritanical Reverend who punished sin severely; unfortunately he was of the view that mutants were sinners by default, so even the slightest deviation from his strict, restrictive code was punished severely.

"I'm here," a small voice answered. He was glad she had not run away but from her tone of voice he was pretty sure his assessment of her mood had been pretty accurate. He made his way down to where she was sitting in the chair, her expression worried and her hands clasped in prayer, probably unconsciously. He approached her, unsure about what he should do next. He made to touch her shoulder but she flinched and he whipped his hand back. He tried to keep his expression neutral but she must have seen the hurt she had caused.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I'm the one who should apologise," he said. "I should have thought..."

"It's not your fault I'm messed up," she said, smiling feebly.

"You're not messed up," he said fiercely. He took both her hands and although she recoiled again he kept his grip. "This is new to you, to both of us actually, and I know what you went through before... coming here. But together we can make it work."

"You know... for an immature little idiot that was surprisingly sensitive and mature," Rahne teased him, feeling much better for his words. He smiled.

"I have my moments," he said, mentally thanking whichever dupe it was that had got its hands on 'Psychology for Beginners' in the Institute's large if somewhat underused library. It was not that he wasn't genuinely concerned about Rahne but without the specific knowledge and vocabulary the dupe had picked up he doubted he would have been able to put it so neatly. "I also managed to find the place we're looking for," he went on. "It's not too far from here. Unfortunately we can't get one of the others to drive us in case they start asking questions..."

"How did you find out where this place is?" Rahne asked. Jamie was about to launch into a detailed, extensive explanation when she noticed his scholarly pose and quickly refined her question. "I mean, I can see how you got the number, but how do we know it's the right place? If the website's blocked from the entire internet..."

"That was the really clever bit," Jamie said happily. "It's not listed as 'SHIELD lives here' or even as the headquarters of some mutant organisation, but I managed to find out the address the phone number applies to...

"And?" Rahne prompted. She knew Jamie was grandstanding now- probably hoping his showing off would impress her. She actually was quite impressed but she would have been even more impressed and quite a bit happier if he would just get to the point.

"Well, apparently it's meant to be some sort of office, built quite recently but no-one had bought it or refurbished or anything... until now."

"You really think SHIELD are behind this?" Rahne asked. All the students knew about SHIELD of course; they had first encountered them when X23 had attacked the mansion and eluded capture, and there had been the whole Apocalypse situation that the mysterious, shadowy organisation had assisted them with. What they were less clear about was what SHIELD actually did. They were clearly very powerful and influential to get involved with something like Apocalypse, but how had they managed to get someone like Bolivar Trask released? And what was their interest in the situation with this Cortex Investigations Agency? The one person who could possibly have given them answers was probably also the one person they'd least like to bring the subject up with; even if they managed to actually find Logan, they could not hope to come up with a cover story he wouldn't see- or indeed smell- right through.

"Unless there's some other shadowy spy network with the money and power to pull this kind of thing off and a special interest in the X-Men," he confirmed. Both of them paused to consider the ramifications of that. He had meant it simply as confirmation but instead had raised more questions. What if there really _was _such an organisation? Had they accidentally stumbled across something much bigger? Jamie doubted it- there had been a long chain of flukes and unlikely coincidences but surely this had to be stretching it just a little bit too far... Rahne was not so quick to dismiss the possibility. She was a firm adherent to theory that God moved in mysterious ways, and perhaps He had some plan for them...

"I don't know," Jamie said eventually. "But I don't really care. I just want to know who that guy is and what he's got to do with this whole thing."

"But if there really is someone else behind this-"

"Then the best people to find out would be a detective agency," Jamie pointed out. "But we can't do anything tonight, and it's a weekend tomorrow, that gives us two days to do something."

"Such as?"

Jamie looked surprised to be asked. "I don't know," he said huffily. "Not yet, anyway. But I will." He looked thoughtful. "Believe me, I'm going to find this guy, whoever he is and wherever he's gone, I'm going to find him."


	16. Chapter 16

**Cortex IVI**

_Downtown Bayville_

Logan and Remy had made their report to the professor the previous night and were already back on the streets. They now had the name Wyngarde, and that the mysterious man worked for some kind of criminal consortium calling itself the Hellfire Club, which was immensely rich, very powerful, and according to police records, completely nonexistent. That had not come as a huge surprise; it would be a bold or foolish man who got too publically involved with a polarising group like the Friends of Humanity. They also knew that Smith and his followers were just one of several groups involved with this Hellfire Club, whoever that was. It was similar in a way to a business scam, with several groups set up as competing organisations but secretly all fronts for the same group. In this case, Hellfire funded several groups and could get them to do the dirty work without being implicated themselves. Where Logan and Remy had got lucky was in finding a suitably suspicious and prudent man in Smith to be their unwilling source. Whether through paranoia or as a precaution, he had investigated the other groups unofficially working for the enigmatic Hellfire Club. This gave him information on rivals as well as ammunition he could use if he were to get caught by police; he could offer up information and records in a bargain to preserve his own bigoted hide. One of the names he had a file on was a Martin Li, who Hank had recognised as rumoured but never proved to be involved in a scandal involving diamond smuggling. With that rumour it seemed extremely likely that this was the same Mr Li that Remy had heard mentioned just after the attack on him and Layla. That probably meant it was _also_ Mr Martin Li, respectable businessman and renowned philanthropist and humanitarian. Yes there were those unpleasant rumours but he was wealthy and influential? Who in his position would not have jealous tongues spreading scurrilous gossip? They would have to do this the old-fashioned way, asking questions of street thugs, and then repeating the questions louder with claws for emphasis. It was simple but it worked, which was the most important factor as far as they were concerned.

They were walking down a street when Logan stopped dead, so suddenly that Remy had walked several metres further before noticing he was alone. He turned to see Logan sniffing the air suspiciously. The Canadian was not about to pop his claws in the middle of a busy street but his knuckles were white with tension. Remy looked around to see what was bothering his companion.

"What's the matter, Logan?"

Logan grated one word. "Fury."

Remy assumed that Logan was simply describing his mood and was about to ask what had made him so angry, but then he noticed Logan was staring at a man sitting with his back to them outside of a coffee bar. All Remy could make of him was a long coat and cropped, greying hair, nothing that would explain Logan's sudden animosity, which reminded Remy slightly of Sabretooth's expression when discussing Logan himself. Logan stormed across the street towards the man, who seemed blissfully unaware he had three hundred pounds of Canadian anger and adamantium heading towards him.

"Hello Logan," the man said just as they reached him and without even turning around. Remy was surprised but Logan seemed if anything more annoyed than before. Even the stubble on his unshaven face seemed to be bristling. He threw himself into the seat opposite this Fury, ad Remy pulled up another seat and sat next to him... a safe distance away. "And Mr LeBeau too," the man observed.

"What do you want, Fury?" Logan demanded. Remy had questions of his own.

"How'd you know my name?" he said curiously.

"Oh, we know _all_ about you, Remy," Fury assured him. Remy was not reassured in the slightest. Fury's appearance was not calculated to inspire relaxation: he was dressed in a dark shirt and tie underneath his long coat, but his hands were calloused and his jaw set firmly. Even without his militaristic bearing, the eye-patch over one eye gave him a piratical, menacing air. He lit up a cigar and examined his two guests. A waiter sidled over to him.

"Erm, this is a no smoking area," he said nervously.

"I know," Fury said, but did not remove the cigar. The waiter was obviously cowed by the intimidating man and scuttled away. Logan scowled at the man. Remy was curious about this strange man. The two of them had clearly met before. It was equally clear that at least one of these meetings had not ended happily.

"You know each other?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, me and Logan go way back," Fury said. "You should get him to tell you about it some time."

"What are you doing here Fury?" Logan demanded. "And where's your little army of agents?"

"I'm not here, officially," Fury said. "No record of this meeting ever happening, no-one to see it. I shouldn't even be here at all, but I thought it's only fair to give a warning to an old friend like you."

"Warning, huh? About what?" Logan demanded.

"Stop trying to find Martin Li," Fury said simply. "Drop it all. Walk away. We've got people... investigating it. And you can forget about Layla Miller. We've got... people looking for her. We've got it all in hand Logan- so don't go and mess it up now."

"Who're these investigators?" Logan demanded. Fury looked pleased by the question.

"Guess the computer shields held up after all," he said cryptically. "Don't try hacking again either, or it _will _end badly for you. For once in your life just keep your nose out of trouble." He drained his coffee and stood up. "Glad we had this little chat. You see your daughter again, tell her I said hi."

He turned and walked away, leaving both the mutants looking confused, although true to form Logan was just as much angry as bewildered. Remy looked at him.

"You have a daughter?" he said curiously.

"Drop it Cajun or I drop you," Logan growled.

"Easy, mon ami, I was only making conversation," Remy held up his hands in placation. "But what was all that about computer shields? I don't see you as the type to try and steal information off the internet."

"I'm not," Logan said. "He must be talking about those files we got off'f Smith."

"If you say so," Remy shrugged. "But what're we going to do now? As warnings go that one seemed pretty definite."

"We're going to keep looking," Logan grunted. "If SHIELD's getting involved there's something way bigger going on here, and I'm not going to give up on Layla just because Colonel Nick goddamned Fury tells me to."

"You're the boss," Remy said. Logan looked at him sharply, unsure whether the cocky Cajun was mocking him or not, but he seemed genuine. Logan had to stop and think about what their next step should be though. SHIELD never meant good news and Nick Fury's personal presence even less so. If they really did have some kind of stake in this mess then Logan and Remy would have to tread very carefully. Not because he was obeying Fury's orders or worrying about the reprisal for disobedience, but because it meant what had started as a search for a missing girl was now something much bigger. Not only would he have to work out what the new scenario now was, he would also have to consider where his position was in the grander scheme and how he should progress from here.

"Okay, this is what we're going to do," he said. "We keep on trying to find this Li. We get him and we can get him to tell us what the hell we're getting into. As far as we know he's the one who's got Layla Miller too, so we get her back before we start wondering what happens next."

"Sounds like a plan," Remy agreed. "So how are we going to get to Li?"

"We find someone who knows where he is and we ask them," Logan said simply. "I'm pretty sure I can get one of them to talk."

"I'm pretty sure you can too," Remy said. Logan's voice and demeanour may be calmer now but Remy was not fooled for a moment. Logan was just as angry as before, probably even more so, but now his rage was controlled and focussed. Whoever he let it loose on would be lucky to escape intact.

_A bar, Bayville, Later that day_

"Was that really necessary?" Remy asked curiously. "Behind you!"

"I know he's behind me," Logan said, spinning and punching the man in the face. "And yeah, it was totally necessary." He pointed to Remy's left. "Watch your back."

Remy turned and swung the pool cue into the man's face. The man's nose collapsed with a crunch and he fell to the floor even as another man approached to take his place. Remy twirled the cue like a staff and as his opponent backed off, kicked him right between the legs. The man whimpered and fell to the floor and Remy jumped over the prone body to confront a few dawdlers who had yet to join the brawl. He kept talking to Logan even as the pair of them waded through a tide of thugs and tough-guys. "Breaking his fingers just seems a little bit extreme," he commented.

"Just proving I wasn't messing around," Logan justified himself. He head-butted another man, and with a skull coated in adamantium the effect was dramatic: the man collapsed, concussed and with a hairline fracture of the skull.

"You'd already smashed his head against the bar three times, I doubt he thought you were joking," Remy said. He swept the legs out from underneath another goon and brought the end of the cue down on his forehead where he lay sprawling. Three of the man's companions charged him at once, but Remy produced three cards, charged them, and flung them skilfully. Each man was blown backwards as a card discharged against him.

"Well, it doesn't hurt to be sure," Logan said. He grabbed one of his attackers and hurled him across the room. The man landed painfully on a table, which collapsed under the impact. The man groaned but did not rise from his bed of shards and splinters. One of the last two thugs swerved and ran right past Logan, heading for the door, but another produced a knife and swiped at Logan's arm. The cut ran from wrist to elbow and bled profusely, but as the man tried jabbing the knife at the Canadian's face Logan simply grabbed the wrist and squeezed. The man whimpered as he heard his bones creak and he was forced to his knees. Logan was not concerned with the fate of the would-be runaway; he had heard a thud, a yell and a sharp crackle as Remy prevented the escape. The Cajun thief strolled into sight, disgustedly tossing aside the two halves of the cue, which had snapped on the impact of the last blow. They both stared down at the last of the thugs when the sudden silence was broken by a metallic click. All three heads turned at once to see the barman pointing a shotgun at them. He was visibly wobbling and the gun barrel was describing small circles in the air as he tried to recover from the massive blow to the head Logan had dealt him earlier.

"Let him go, or I swear I will blow your freaky mutant heads right off your goddamn shoulders." The barman's voice was impressively level and clear for someone so concussed, but neither Remy nor Logan seemed concerned by the squat menace of the shotgun.

"No you won't," Remy corrected him. His hand moved in a blur and a charged card blew the gun from the man's hands and threw him against the wall, smashing several bottles. Logan sniffed disapprovingly.

"Waste of good whiskey," he scowled. "Don't even think it bub." This was addressed to the thug at his feet, who had been trying to crawl away whilst the mutants were distracted. Logan put a booted foot onto the small of his back to stop the attempt dead in its tracks. He knelt down and held a fist in front of the man's face. The adamantium claws sprouted with menacing slowness until they were only centimetres from the man's eyeballs. "So, are you going to talk or not?"

"I'll talk, I'll talk, I'll tell you whatever you want to know!" the man said hurriedly.

"I know you will." Logan grinned savagely and heaved the man upright. He threw him onto one of the last remaining chairs and stood over him menacingly. "Martin Li, aka Mr Negative. Tell me everything you know."

"He's cutting himself a slice of the underworld pie," the man replied. "He's not been on the scene long, but he's making a big name for himself. Mostly he uses mutants and other freaks-" Logan jabbed him lightly with his claws- "and other, uh, gifted individuals."

"Where do I find him?"

"I don't know man," the thug pleaded. Logan leaned forward and the man started to babble anxiously. "I don't, I swear! He only ever goes to joints he owns, mutant only places, even if I knew where they were I wouldn't be able to show you!"

"Who does know?"

"Uh... Michael Skinner's the guy for that kind of thing, he hears all kinds of stuff," the man suggested.

"How do I find this Skinner?" Logan demanded. The captive looked down at the pathetic, crumpled body on the floor with its mangled hand and pulped face. Logan scowled but Remy could not help a slight smirk; it would make their task harder but he appreciated a nice bit of irony when he saw one. Logan did not let his annoyance show, instead he just jabbed the man again, who yelped.

"Who else?"

"I don't know! Negative only ever uses mutants, we don't get told where he is!"

Logan realised he was wasting his time with this line of interrogation. The man was clearly terrified beyond subterfuge, and Logan could smell terror and fervent hope. The man was telling the truth- but that only meant that Logan and Remy would have to repeat the process all over again. He had never originally intended to get involved in a massive pub brawl, but somehow things had got slightly out of hand, and then a very long way out of hand, and the end result was a bar that was full of groaning, twitching bodies and could not have looked in worse condition if a bomb had gone off. Remy was obviously thinking along similar lines as he grabbed a miraculously still-upright glass of beer and tipped it over the face of Skinner. Surprisingly it made the man stir feebly and after Remy slapped him lightly on the cheek a few times the man was awake.

"Ah, my head feels like it was... Aw, crap!" He had seen the two mutants looming over him. Logan grabbed his shirt.

"Skinner?" He growled, and when the man nodded, "Word is that you're the man to go to for information about Mr Negative."

"I don't know anything about him," Skinner pleaded.

"Then you'd better find out real quick, cause you've only got five fingers left before I start on limbs," Logan said. Skinner blanched, which made his bleeding, misshapen face contort into something almost unrecognisable as human.

"Alright! Alright! What do you want to know?"

"Where do we find him?" Logan said simply.

"He's got this club, calls it the Gene Pool," Skinner said. "But you've got no chance of getting him there, only mutants ever get in."

There was a sharp crack somewhere behind Logan. Remy had been toying with a snooker ball, charging it until it blew apart in his hands. He dropped the remnants onto the floor carelessly. "Ain't that a coincidence," he commented lightly. Skinner did a commendable job of hiding his shock and tried to keep his expression defiant, or at least as defiant as it could be given the state of his face.

"You think you're so tough, don't you?" he sneered. "But you're going to get massacred."

"That's what they all said," Logan swept his arm around the room, indicating all the stunned, injured thugs. "Until we proved 'em wrong, anyway." He nodded to the prone Skinner. "Thanks for your help."

"Be seeing you around sometime," Remy added, smirking. With that, the pair of them strode out of the chaotic ruins that had once been a prosperous bar, leaving Skinner glaring at the man who had clearly offered his name up to the deadly pair.

"You do that again and I swear I'm going to make those two look like cuddly bunnies," he informed the man, who gulped nervously, and looked around the bar for a distraction. He found it in the shape of the bartender sprawling amongst broken bottles and dripping alcohol, clearly in no position to do anything. "Hey Skinner- you want a drink?" He said, nodding towards the prone bartender. "On the house."

"Why stop at one?" Skinner suggested. He had always found alcohol a good way to numb pain and also remove a few hours' worth of memories. He would settle for either effect ... but he hoped for both.

_Cortex Headquarters_

"Not laughing now, are you?" Guido yelled triumphantly as Monet smashed into a wall. The enraged telepath sprang to her feet and threw herself towards Guido, who grinned and braced himself for the blow. As Monet's fists hit him in the chest she saw the muscles ripple and bulge and felt her momentum crawling to a stop as he absorbed the blow. He backhanded her and she ended up flying back the way she came, although this time she did at least manage to stop herself before hitting the wall. She flew into the air beyond his reach and circled as she tried to come up with another move. She found it hard to use her telepathy in a combat situation but as physical force was clearly not working it would have to do. Guido wobbled and fell to his knees; Monet had been trying to knock him unconscious but this would have to do. She swooped towards him, and in his stunned state he was unable to activate his powers fully. Her fist caught him under the chin and he was thrown off his feet onto his back. Monet floated downwards to gloat over her fallen opponent.

"Bet you feel pretty stupid about now," she mocked him.

"You're one to talk," he said from his position on the floor, but before she had time to work out what he was on about he had rolled to his feet and one huge hand was wrapped around her dainty ankle. He stood up, pivoted on his heel and swung her into a wall. As she reeled from the blow she caught a punch right to the face that knocked her to her knees. Guido was about to finish her when James stepped between them.

"Hey, hey, let up a minute will you? You're on the same side! This was meant to be practice! What the hell made you start beating the crap out of each other?"

"He called me fat!" Monet screeched, pointing at Guido. Her expression and tone of voice suggested he had accused her of being a baby-eating serial killer, and for his part Guido was holding up his hands in confusion.

"I didn't," he protested his innocence. "I just mentioned it was a while since she'd been down here in the gym, I was just wondering how she kept her figure, is all."

"Oh right, and in that tone of voice I just know what you were implying!" she snapped.

"Look, putting on a couple of pounds is no big deal..." Guido began, but it was the wrong thing to say. Monet howled like a banshee and rushed towards him. James tried to keep the two apart but Monet simply brushed him aside. Unfortunately, given the respective strengths of the pair, that simple gesture was enough to bowl James along the floor.

"STOP IT!" Teresa yelled. Everyone in the room was literally blasted off their feet and the walls shook ominously. She glared at them all. "Will you concentrate? If we're going to beat Negative and get Layla back, we have to work together! If you want to go back to whaling on each other after that, fine, I don't care. But until then, we concentrate on working as a team."

"Egsdwrldbisee," James said indistinctly, rising to his feet. His clothes were tangled and his hair a dishevelled mess; he had not even begun to get over being hit by a girl who could lift fifteen tons when Teresa's sonic waves had washed over him. Now more than ever he was reminded that he was by some way the weakest member of the team, at least physically speaking. He plucked at his shirt until it was vaguely smooth and brushed his hair back. "Exactly what I was going to say," he managed at the second attempt. He cricked his neck. "Ow. I know things have been tough, with the attack and Val Cooper sticking her nose in, and with Julio... doing what he did. But none of that matters now, okay? We get this thing done and you can do whatever you want to do, but until then you're my colleagues, my employees and I'd like to think you're my friends. We go in disorganised and without a plan, Negative's going to kill us, and if the rumours are true he'll take his time doing it."

"And if we do go in with a plan, he's still going to kill us," Monet groused. "It will just take a little bit longer."

"'Sides, I didn't see you doing any practice," Guido grumbled. "Way I see it, you need it more than we do, what with being made of straw and all." The reference to his physical frailty riled James slightly. It was of course completely true; compared to Guido and Monet he was fragile and vulnerable, and even Teresa could use her powers to create a sonic shield. It was not as though he was completely feeble; he was trained and proficient in several martial arts, but that didn't seem so impressive compared to a man who could lift a truck.

"You didn't see it because you were too busy beating on Monet," he said. He saw Monet glaring at him and quickly added, "And vice versa. Unlike the pair of you, me and Terry manage to get on well."

"I bet you do," Guido shot back with a suggestive leer. James had to repeat the lecture he had just given the pair of them to himself mentally to avoid snapping back at the big idiot. He knew that their nerves were beginning to fray and unravel, and tempers were running high; it was not as though he himself was particularly relaxed about what the night would bring. The tense silence was broken when a device on Teresa's wrist started to bleep insistently.

"Someone's just turned up at the desk," she explained. James considered his options. He could tell her to just ignore them and hope they would get bored and leave, but it could be someone important to the mission, Val Cooper or one of her colleagues with an update or amendment to the plan. He looked at Teresa.

"Go check it out, see who it is," he instructed her. "If it's no one important just tell them we're closed- refurbishing or something." The Irish redhead nodded and made her way up the stairs towards the reception area. This was the one part of the new headquarters that they all agreed was an improvement on the old one: it was much more professional-looking and neatly organised. James was looking between Guido and Monet, aware that he was probably the only thing standing between them and the second round of their little feud. The silence resumed, even more uncomfortable than before, and he racked his brains for a way to break the tension.

"I don't suppose there's any point asking you both to apologise and make up?" He ventured.

"No," they both said at once.

"Well at least there's something you agree on," he said, attempting a feeble laugh that quickly faded. Luckily Teresa came to the rescue, calling him up to reception.

"Hey boss, you might want to see this one," her voice carried to the other two as well, and all three were slightly taken aback by the term of address. She only normally called him 'boss' if there was a really desperate need for formality, or more commonly to mock him for an order she found superfluous or pompous. It seemed the former was more likely, but that was not in itself very good news; it suggested they were about to have trouble of the official kind.

"Who is it?" James asked. "If its Val, give her the usual lines, I'm busy, or on the phone, you know the drill."

"Val?" Monet asked drily. "Seems a bit more friendly than, and I quote, 'blood-sucking government vampire bitch.'"

"Eh, she's not so bad once you get to know her," James said, but further discussion on the nature of SHIELD liaisons was cut short by Teresa's reply.

"It's not her," she explained. "Or anyone from SHIELD, unless they're really, really desperate for agents."

"So it's a client?" James hazarded. "This is really not a good time Terry- can't you just, y'know, tell them to beat it?"

"Well, not... It's kind of... you'd better just see this yourself," Teresa replied. James sighed. Redheads had a reputation for unpredictable moods, and the Irish were not renowned for their stoic reserve, so an Irish redhead may not have been the wisest choice to act as their link to the world in this kind of tense situation. James looked at the other two, whose animosity appeared to have given way to curiosity, at least temporarily.

"I'd better check this out," he sighed. "Can I trust you two to not go back to trying to kill each other? Stupid question... okay then, both of you come with me. It's not like this whole practice thing was a good idea in the first place."

"She started it," Guido said automatically, but neither of the others were in the mood to start an argument and ignored him. In all honesty, Guido was not overly keen on the idea himself, but by now it had become an automatic reflex to crack a joke as soon as he felt even slightly uncomfortable. The three of them made their way up to the reception area, trying to look like a trio of responsible, highly professional private detectives, and not doing a particularly good job of it. On first entry all they could see was a teenage girl with hair a deeper shade of red than Teresa's flaming locks. They didn't see what the big deal was until the boy talking to her turned around as he heard the three approach. Guido had to make a physical effort to stop his jaw dropping. He looked at the boy, then at James, then back at the boy and then back at James again. He finally managed to vocalise the question they'd all been thinking.

"What the hell?"


	17. Chapter 17

**Cortex 17: Slings and Arrows**

It took quite a lot to leave Guido Carosella wordless. Even if his brain was unable to fully understand what his eyes were seeing, his mouth could come up with half a dozen quips without any mental input required. However, the sight of his friend and employer was one of them- well, make that two versions of his friend and employer... at once... in the same room. Eventually he got round to making a characteristically smart-mouthed comment.

"What the hell?" Okay, so it was a confused question not a witty one-liner, but it was more than adequate for purpose. Once he had got over his shock he noticed a few differences between the two: a few extra inches in height, the hair worn in different styles, and the fact that the new James appeared to be younger than the other by several years.

"Uh... good afternoon?" James ventured nervously. He was not entirely sure who this was or how he should address him. He had been even more flabbergasted than his team-mates at the sight of the boy; after all, it was not miniature versions of them that had just appeared. The boy looked just as unnerved as James felt by the encounter.

"Erm... Hi... Mr Maddox," he said uncertainly.

"Who're you?" Guido butted in rudely. Clearly the impossible odds and extreme unlikelihood of the situation had done nothing to improve his manners. Then again, in this kind of situation social niceties were not the first thing on anyone's minds.

"Jamie Madrox," the boy answered. James noticed everyone gaping at him in shock and suddenly realised the boy hadn't said anything- it had been James who had provided the answer, and from the look on the boy's face it had clearly been correct.

"How did you know that?" Monet asked. She was doing her best to maintain her icy indifference but even she was finding it hard to not let her shock and surprise show. James tried to think of an answer other than 'I don't know,' which although honest probably wouldn't be very helpful.

"I don't know," his mouth said while his brain still grappled with the problem. He cursed inwardly.

"Join the club," Guido said. "We've got badges and everything."

"How did you find us?" Monet asked. She was apparently too shocked to try anything beyond attempting to salvage some semblance of reality of the bizarre situation. None of it made any sense but just maybe if she asked enough questions she might just come across a fact she could make sense of, although that seemed unlikely at this stage.

"We found this place on the internet," Jamie explained.

"How? SHIELD's got this place-" Guido was cut off by an elbow to the ribs from Teresa. It was not the physical impact that did it, in fact he barely registered the blow, but he felt it strongly enough to recognise it as a hint to shut up. Their links to SHIELD were probably not facts that they wanted broadcast to the world. He looked again at the pair of them and realisation hit him like a sledgehammer.

"I know you!" he blurted, jabbing a finger the size of a beer-can at the two youngsters, who both shrank back in apprehension, Jamie doing his best to shield Rahne from harm. Guido lowered his finger but only to smack a fist against the palm of his other hand.

"You're that pair me and Julio saw in town the other week, aren't you?" he demanded, thinking back to the incident in question. With hindsight it seemed unlikely and even a little embarrassing he had not noticed the resemblance to James on that previous occasion. Then again, he had been more preoccupied with trying to find Layla Miller, so his mind had not been fully focussed.

"That was us," Jamie confirmed. That was an encounter he would not forget in a hurry- his first date with his girlfriend and he ends up being approached by mutant detectives. That was bad enough before the memory that it was the senior X-Men who had ended up 'rescuing' him. He was pretty sure he could have handled the situation without the older mutants showing up, and showing him up in front of Rahne. Rahne hadn't forgotten it either but no-one appeared to be particularly interested in her, which suited her just fine.

"I just want to say if I ruined your date or anything..." Guido began.

"Is this really the best time for that?" Monet snapped. Guido's mouth snapped shut and he looked over at her guiltily.

"I'm just saying," he said. After that, an awkward silence fell as people tried to think about what to say that wouldn't be inappropriate or stupid. Jamie and Rahne had still harboured the slight hope that James would know the truth about the situation, or at least more than they did, but from his reaction and that of his team-mates, they were just as stunned and confused as the two youngsters.

"God, this is the worst possible time for this to happen," Jamie muttered, massaging his temples. "Just when we've got this damn mission tonight..."

"What mission?" Rahne and Teresa asked simultaneously. Jamie looked confused and annoyed by their reaction.

"Only the one we've spent all this time planning!" he snapped. "The one involving a fight against a vicious gangster? Ringing any bells now?"

"I know the one you mean," Monet said slowly. "The question is... why do you?"

Jamie was about to retort sharply when his face went momentarily blank. It soon recovered an expression, but it was one of confusion and fear.

"I don't know," he confessed. Rahne took his hand, the only way she could think to give him comfort. He squeezed her warm, soothing fingers and across the room James felt his own fingers twitch briefly, although he had not even seen the action that prompted the response.

"How is this even possible?" Teresa asked. She did not have the expression of someone expecting an answer, which was just as well as none of the others seemed inclined or even capable to giving her one. Rahne was if anything more confused than the others. She had picked up the scents of the Cortex Investigations members as they entered, but of course it was James' that occupied her attentions most. Although her nose could pick up myriad subtle differences, the fact remained that his smell was much closer to Jamie's than she had ever encountered between two people before. Monet was also using her powers to pick up signs the others would miss. Her initial guess had been that there was some kind of telepathy at work, and the thoughts of each man were somehow switching between the two. However, on scanning their minds she had found that neither of them possessed any telepathy beyond James' ability to possess other people's minds, and he had obviously not done that.

"This is some seriously weird shi- I mean, stuff," Guido hastily corrected himself as he remembered the age of their guests. Neither of them seemed to have noticed the slip-up, or possibly simply didn't care. After all, a few swearwords hardly seemed inappropriate; in fact they seemed positively understated given the situation. For a while there was silence as people tried to work out what to say next.

"So... where is it exactly you're from?" James asked eventually. It was not the most important or pressing question he could have asked but he had decided to try and work his way up rather than jump right in.

"We're from the Institute," Jamie explained. He assumed that after the debacle with the Sentinel and all that it had caused afterwards that the name would be familiar to everyone, particularly people whose job demanded them finding out information. It seemed he guessed wrong.

"What's that? Some kind of CIA mutant-training operation?" Guido asked. He was not actually as ridiculously wrong as Jamie and Rahne thought him to be; what they didn't know was that after the Sentinel battle and even after the battle with Apocalypse, Nick Fury had been making the most of SHIELD's resources to disseminate and distort the information available to the world about the X-Men. Now they were generally believed to be a vigilante team on the orders of SHIELD or some other equally secretive organisation, and the links between them and the 'students' of the Xavier Institute were now rumours at most.

"No, the Xavier Institute," Rahne explained. This was one of very few areas of the discussion she felt qualified to speak about, quite apart from which she had a feeling standing in the background watching Jamie get more and more confused and nervous did not quite fit the role of 'supportive girlfriend.' "It's where we study, and learn to control our powers."

"Oh, that institute," Monet said, not sounding particularly impressed or amazed by the revelation. "That was the one that got blown to pieces wasn't it?" She managed to sound as though this made it little better than a shack blown down in the wind.

"It got repaired," Rahne said, a little defensively. Something about this beautiful sleek woman was setting her on edge; the inner wolf's fur was bristling and its fangs were bared. Monet managed a dismissive glance that was impressively haughty even by her standards. She was still shocked and surprised by Jamie's sudden appearances and the possible repercussions, but she would not be Monet if she could manage to make someone else feel even worse.

"So you're mutants?" Teresa asked. It was surprising that it had taken this long for someone to ask the question. The others had appeared to think that if James was a mutant then it seemed certain that this doppelganger must also be a mutant. The mention of the institute and Rahne's use of the word 'powers' were the first things in the entire conversation to give that theory any credence.

"That's right," Jamie confirmed. "I can duplicate myself, sort of... I'll show you." He thought he was probably disobeying the Professor's instructions in doing this but he was already in more than enough for trouble for tracking these guys down. Besides, if it helped them work out what was happening he was perfectly willing to risk angering Xavier, hell, he'd take the worst Wolverine could throw at him for this. He thumped a fist on the desk and a second Jamie popped into existence. He looked around for a few seconds before his eyes fell on James.

"What the hell?" He dashed over and began running his hands over the older mutant, poking and prodding him scientifically.

"Ow!" James winced as the dupe pinched his cheek. Jamie looked embarrassed by the dupe's antics but it was not as though he could choose which dupe to create or what they would do once he had created them. This one appeared to be the one who normally helped out Hank, and was currently was stroking his chin and looking thoughtful.

"This is something of a mystery. We may have to run tests before we can-"

"Okay Einstein that's enough from you," Jamie said weakly, reabsorbing the dupe. Rahne did not follow suit in displaying her abilities. She always felt embarrassed about them for some reason, and then ashamed at her own embarrassment. Xavier and the others always taught how powers were to be embraced and celebrated, and Hank and Kurt didn't even have the choice to revert to human forms from their more bestial shapes. Then again, neither had they had it drummed into them that their abilities were a curse and that their very souls were damned due to a mere freak of genetics.

The horribly predictable and awkward silence returned as conversation ground to a halt. James knew he had to carry on with the planning for the operation that night, but the mystery of Jamie's appearance would have intrigued the inner detective within him even without the personal aspects to the case.

"Monet, can you show our guests to the guests' rooms?" he asked. "We need to work this out but we've got an appointment to keep." He didn't mention the name of Mr Negative as he didn't want the two young kids deciding they wanted in on the case, but the other members of the team all knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Why am I on babysitting duties?" Monet grumbled. "I don't even like kids."

"You used to be just like them," Teresa pointed out fairly.

"Oh, please," Monet huffed. "I had better fashion sense at seven than these two ever will... and as for her hair..."

"Alright Monet, that's enough," James said sharply. He knew that it was nerves and surprise that was making the telepath even bitchier than usual but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Just for once, remember just who it is who is in charge here and do what I tell you."

"Fine," Monet flounced out of the room with Jamie and Rahne in close attendance. James turned to the other members of the team and ran through the plan one more time.

"Right, we've got two hours before we make our move," he said. "That should give us plenty of time to stake this place out- I don't want our friend Mr Li pulling off any nasty surprises."

"Wow, so far this plan sounds exactly the same as the last twenty times you told us about it," Guido quipped. James glared at him.

"And every time I did I had to go over a point you'd forgotten," he said pointedly. Guido scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Yeah... about that..." he began. "Why is it you and Terry are the ones who go in? I mean, no disrespect but if it comes to a fight I'm way more use than you are."

"We want to try and avoid a fight as much as possible," James explained. "We need Monet to wait outside so we can get Li out quickly, and me and Terry will blend in a lot better than you would. We don't really want them working out what's going on until it's already done, and the minute you appear they'll be kind of suspicious."

"Fine," Guido said equably. "Just checking."

"Yeah... well... anyway, me and Terry go in, check our friend is actually going to show and if we can, we grab him. Terry can make sure we get out quick, then Guido and Monet, you cover our exit. We go in and out quick as we can and let SHIELD handle the rest of it."

"You make it sound so simple," Guido said laconically. Monet reappeared on the scene with a disgruntled look on her face. She clearly wasn't joking about not liking kids, but then again was there anyone she did like? It seemed unlikely. Guido was already so worked up about the danger they would face later he didn't mind risking placing himself in peril already and chanced a joke at Monet's expense.

"Hey look, Monet's back- how did the 'child minder of the year' awards go?"

"Shut up you overgrown gorilla," Monet growled. "Are you sure leaving them here is the smartest thing to do? What if someone wants to try and find them?"

"They've got a phone in there, they can let whoever needs to know what the score is," James said. "Besides, who's going to find them here?"

Logan stopped dead in his tracks. Remy was lucky he was alert, otherwise he would have walked right into the short Canadian which would be not only embarrassing but probably painful too. Logan was looking around him in the watchful way that Remy had become painfully familiar with over the days they had been searching for Layla Miller. When Logan looked like that it generally indicated he had smelled a fresh lead, literally, but often said sources needed 'persuading' to give up their secrets. Remy was never one to avoid a fight but that didn't mean his idea of a good time was starting brawls in every bar in Bayville. He had been vaguely reassured when Logan had told him he knew what he needed to know and where he needed to go, but it was only vaguely- the route Logan had taken them on lead through one of the more disreputable areas of the city. If any of the street toughs guessed the pair were mutants- or even just decided to pick a fight with the two uninvited strangers- then there would probably be yet another fight, and he was pretty sure that this one would involve more than a few broken bones and minor concussion.

"What the hell are they doing here?" Logan muttered to himself. Remy had no idea who 'they' were or why their presence was a bad thing but the thunderous expression on Logan's face suggested that whatever was going on was not good news for anyone. Logan dashed off down one of the alleyways, forsaking the relative safety of the streets and right into the middle of gang territory. Remy hurried after him, trusting Logan's senses and experience to lead them in the right direction. Logan paused outside a large building with a sign above the door describing the place as 'Cortex Investigation Agencies.'

"Classy joint," Remy observed. Considering the locale, the building was in remarkably good condition and from what could be seen through the glass doors the interior decor was very expensive and sophisticated-looking. "But I still don't see what's so special about this place."

"Jamie and Rahne are in there," Logan growled. "But they told me they were just going into town for an evening date..."

Remy tried walking in and was not as surprised as maybe he should have been to find it was locked. "That's a pretty safe lock," he commented to Logan. People often assumed one key lock was much like another but an experienced thief like Remy knew that was not the case. Some could be picked by an amateur with a paperclip but there were those that only the original key could open- even others from the same cast would not work. Of course, a master thief like Remy could pick any lock in existence, but this one would take time. "Not standard issue," he added. This was the kind of lock a bank would use or a businessman with a lot to hide.

"I've got the key right here," Logan growled, brandishing his claws. Remy put a placatory hand on his shoulder.

"Not so fast, mon ami," he said. "Why not try something a little less... conspicuous?"

"Fine," Logan said. He retracted his claws and crossed his arms. "You've got five minutes then I bust the whole damn door down!"

"Piece of cake," Remy said confidently. He withdrew a fiddly-looking device from an inside pocket and examined the lock carefully. He probed the lock gently for a few moments then there was a click and the door swung open. Logan was impressed by the young thief's efficiency and a little surprised by how he had done it- the device in Remy's fingers didn't look like it would fit any lock on the planet.

"How'd you do that, Cajun?" he asked curiously. Remy grinned and tapped the side of his nose.

"Ancient guild secret, homme," he said. He pushed the door open and waited for Logan to stalk inside before closing it behind them. The lock clicked shut behind them and they both froze, waiting for someone to call out or otherwise indicate awareness of their presence. It never came- apparently the place was shut down and empty of all occupants, although Remy guessed that Rahne and Jamie were still around to judge by Logan's sniffing. The Canadian gestured silently for the thief to follow him and they crept through the empty shadows like a pair of vengeful wraiths.

Jamie and Rahne had been shown, albeit reluctantly, to one of the better class of guest rooms. Monet had not bothered to explain what was going on or what the two of them were supposed to do next but had simply stormed away again, muttering various French curses under her breath. The two of them were left to their own company, which regrettably proved slightly more vexing than comforting. For one thing they did not know what to make of recent events, and for another, both of them remembered what had happened the last time they had been alone in a room. Jamie went with the marginally less awkward of the two options.

"I just wish we knew what was going on," he said. "I mean, we find this top secret detective agency to try and find out what's going on and now we know even less than before! And now they've gone on this mysterious appointment of theirs..."

"We don't know where they've gone," Rahne acknowledged. "But we know they'll be back, and when they do we can finally find out what is going on here."

"It's not like there's not enough else to be worrying about!" Jamie ranted on, apparently oblivious to Rahne's words. "I mean, what's going on with that whole Layla Miller thing? I mean, really what is going on? We only found out about it by chance! Do people tell us these things? Do they hell!"

Jamie kicked a wall in frustration and a dupe popped into existence. Instead of running away or even trying to talk to him, the most common reaction of newly created dupes, this one dropped to his knees, one hand dramatically clasped to his chest and a melodramatic expression of anguish and uncertainty on his face and started talking in a deep, theatrical tone:

"To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. To die—to sleep, No more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd."

"Well, that was... unexpected," Rahne said after a few stunned seconds. Jamie was too surprised to even reabsorb the dupe for a few moments.

"Tell me about it..." he said. "I haven't even studied Shakespeare!"

The dupe looked surprised by this. "Be that as it may, the words of the Bard shall never be forgotten! As he himself once put it: 'All the world's a stage, and the people merely players-'"

Jamie rolled his eyes and the offending dupe was swiftly reabsorbed, striking a dramatic pose even at the end. The two young mutants looked at each other then both burst into laughter. It was not the words the dupe had spoken, or the hammy, melodramatic way he had said them- it was the sheer inappropriateness of a pretentious, Shakespeare-quoting buffoon appearing in the middle of the situation they were in. Each of them found themselves laughing harder in response to the other's merriment, and it was not until Rahne began coughing as her throat protested at its rough treatment that they managed to get a grip on themselves.

"Rahne, are you okay?" Jamie asked, his voice still hitching midsentence as a giggle made a bid for freedom. The Scottish shapeshifter nodded, a grin still on her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine... just laughing a bit too hard," she managed, which nearly set them both off again. In his concern Jamie had stepped in close to his girlfriend and suddenly both found their laughter brought to an abrupt halt as the breath caught in their throats. They were standing in the middle of a strange building, facing the mystery of Jamie's doppelganger and the prospect of severe punishment awaiting them on their return to the Institute, but none of that mattered any more. In fact the whole world beyond their radius may as well have not existed for all they cared. Jamie couldn't help remembering the last time they had been in similar circumstances but a small yet very insistent voice was adamant now would be different if he were only to seize the moment. He took Rahne's hands in his own and kissed her as lightly as he could on the lips. He felt her hands yanked out of his grip and for a millisecond was sure he had blown it again, but within another fraction of a second the doubt was dispelled as Rahne suddenly cupped his face in her hands and kissed him just as lightly. Jamie was by no means an expert on the ways of romance but a subconscious fragment of his mind realised that Rahne had to take control of the situation in order to cope. She kissed him again, this time for longer, and one of her hands moved from his cheek to the nape of his neck. With his mind floating happily in the bliss of the moment, Jamie's hands decided to act on their own, one of them dropping to the small of Rahne's back and drawing her tighter to him. Rahne's lips left his own as she registered his actions but her eyes showed it was not shock or disgust behind the action as much as delight. They kissed again, this one the longest of all, but just as Jamie began to wonder what exactly he should do, a familiar growling voice shattered their private reverie.

"Jamie? Rahne? What are-?"

"Logan, mon ami, c'est l'amour," a second voice interrupted the first. "I don't think they'd appreciate being rescued right now..."

"M-Mr Logan?" Rahne stammered nervously. Jamie could not even manage that, instead letting out a panicked squeak as he realised he was about to discover firsthand the meaning of the term 'eunuch.' However, to the surprise of both of them, Logan looked relieved and sheathed his claws.

"I'm just glad you're okay," he admitted. This uncharacteristically warm and kindly confession was soon replaced by the usual grim growl. "But I want to know what the hell the two of you were thinking! What are you doing here?"

"We came looking for someone," Jamie said. He was relieved his organs seemed out of harm but was still intimidated by the feral Canadian mutant. "We think he's my... he's connected to me somehow."

"Who?" Logan demanded. "And why did they lock you up in here?"

"They're called Cortex Investigation Agency," Rahne took over the explanation. "And we came here by choice- they didn't kidnap us or lock us up or anything like that."

"Where are these Cortex clowns?" Logan growled angrily. "I got a few questions I want to ask them..."

He clearly didn't believe their story about being here by their own choice, believing them brainwashed or intimidated into covering up for those he clearly considered their abductors. His knuckles were white but the claws remained sheathed in his flesh. Every muscle in his body appeared to be taut, and the two young mutants realised he had gone beyond his usual attitude of constant vigilance and now appeared to be expecting imminent violence. Remy had remained silent but the way he was idly twirling a card through the fingers of his left hand displayed the nervousness behind his apparent casualness.

"They've gone to find someone," Rahne explained. She wasn't entirely sure whether she was totally within her rights to disclose this information but she was worried what Logan might do if he didn't get any answers, or didn't like the answers he did get. She hoped he wouldn't ask for any more information, as she didn't have any more to give. Luckily, Jamie came up with something he thought might deflect the wrath of the Wolverine away from him and his girlfriend.

"We saw some of them before," he said uncertainly. "They were asking about Layla... Layla Miller..."

"_What?_" Wolverine bellowed. To his mind, that was the final straw. He was still unsure whether he suspected the mutant PIs of foul play in their treatment of Jamie and Rahne but the fact they appeared to be on the trail of Layla Miller too suggested they had far too many links to the situation for his liking. He was determined to track them down and get the answers he wanted... whether they wanted it or not. "Do you know where they went?"

"They didn't exactly broadcast the information to the world," Jamie said in the closest tone to defiance he could manage in conversation with Logan. "We had enough trouble trying to find this place..."

Logan's eyes narrowed but he didn't say anything. Remy was looking equally calculating- clearly both of them were recalling the same conversation and reaching the same conclusions. Colonel Fury's mysterious references to computer shields and internet searches no longer appeared to be enigmatic riddles, they had in fact been totally pertinent- but the two mutants had had no way of knowing that at the time. It was Remy who was a fraction of a second quicker to take the next logical step.

"Don't you see Logan? It all adds up now," he said excitedly. "Fury told us he had people investigating this Li guy, and he wanted us to stop trying to find out who these investigators of his were..."

"Well, I guess he'll just be disappointed then, won't he?" Logan said, grinning savagely. He had reached the conclusion almost simultaneously with the Cajun thief and now it was he who was faster to make connections. "And I've got a pretty damn good guess who it was these Cortex clowns are out looking for..."

Jamie and Rahne had no idea what the older pair were talking about when they went on about Nick Fury and whoever this Martin Li may be, but it seemed to tally with what they had already discovered for themselves. They knew that whatever had happened to Layla Miller, stars were beginning to align themselves and a multitude of threads were being gradually weaved together. Jamie looked at Rahne, who simply smiled slightly and took his hand. It was the feel of her warm fingers that emboldened him to speak up again.

"We want to come with you and Remy," he said flatly. Logan looked at him in surprise.

"What?" he asked. "I haven't even worked out what I'm going to do next."

"When you decide to go after the Cortex people, me and Rahne want to come with you," Jamie said.

"Not a chance, bub," Logan said bluntly. "The two of you are in enough trouble already, there's no way I'm letting you get involved in this."

"We're already involved in this," Jamie said. "We've done just as much as you have and got just as far, and we did it on our own. We deserve to see it all the way to the end."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'll take you a photograph," Logan said. "You ain't coming, kid- that's my final word on the matter." He saw Jamie's shoulders slump and although he barely needed his superhuman senses to smell the resentment and indignation coming off the boy, he was pretty sure that he had made his point. He turned to Remy. "Come on, Cajun, we better get going if we're going to catch these Cortex guys."

"We could just wait here," Remy pointed out. "They're going to come back at some point, why go chasing them over half the city?"

"Because they're onto something with this," Logan said. He did not know why he was so certain, maybe it was literally animal instinct, maybe it was simply his natural human suspicion or it could simply have been his inexplicable certainty that all these coincidences and incidents were leading to something big. Hell, it could even be his feral, animalistic instincts demanding he hunt down his bolted prey. Whatever the case, there was no way the Canadian mutant was simply going to hang around waiting while there was a chance for action, and for resolution.

"If you say so," Remy shrugged. He made his way out of the room and Logan moved to follow, but just as the burly ex-weapon reached the doorway, he turned and faced the two young mutants with a grim expression on his face.

"You two stay here," he said. "Don't even think about following me and Remy, cause I'll know if you do..." He tapped his nose pointedly and stalked away. Jamie looked at Rahne and she held up a hand for silence for a few moments until she was sure the pair were out of earshot.

"I can't believe that guy!" Jamie fumed. "After all we did he just goes and leaves us behind! He wouldn't even _know_ about James and the others without us!"

"Because he tracked us down somewhere we really shouldn't be," Rahne pointed out. Jamie had to concede the point, but he still looked depressed as he fell back on the bed and stared miserably at the ceiling.

"I just wanted one chance to prove I'm not a kid anymore!" he said despondently. "One chance to show I'm a real X-Man like all the others. And now look at me, sent to my room like a naughty little kid." He sighed, and looked at Rahne as she sat on the bed. She looked beautiful at any angle, especially with that dreamy little grin on her face.

"It was quite a trip," she agreed. "I'll say this for you Jamie- you sure know how to show a girl an exciting time."

"Oh, I'm only getting started," he grinned up at her. He grabbed her hand and before she could react had pulled her down until she was lying next to him. She hit him playfully but as she went for another blow he caught her hand and twined his fingers with hers. She looked over at him and they kissed one more time, this time gently and delicately, a kiss that promised not lust but affection and warmth. They simply lay there, hand in hand, gazing at the ceiling with matching smiles on their faces.

"Quite a trip," Jamie repeated. "And there's no-one I'd rather have with me for it."

_Outside Li's Clubhouse, two hours later_

Logan and Remy had pursued the scent of James Maddox and his colleagues all the way from the headquarters to their current position on the streets of downtown Bayville. They watched as the quartet split apart, Monet soaring up to the rooftops, Guido doing his best to look inconspicuous, and James and Teresa making their way towards the bouncer. They watched the whole altercation between Guido and the mutant bouncer, both of them wincing sympathetically as Guido landed his thunderbolt of a punch, so strong it seemed shockwaves would spread through the streets from the point of impact. James and Teresa made their way inside, and Remy started to follow them until Logan shook his head.

"Cool it, Cajun," he said firmly. Remy looked at him in surprise; Logan, who had lead the way on the mad pursuit and had so impulsively left Jamie and Rahne to their own devices back in the old headquarters, was telling him to _slow down_? Logan must have seen his surprise as he quickly explained his thinking.

"We don't want that big guy to know we're here," he explained. "It would probably take both of us to deal with him, and we've still got that flying broad to try and handle."

"Oh, don't worry, I'd be more than glad to handle her," Remy grinned. The born philanderer had quickly noticed Monet's good looks and abundant charms even at this distance. Logan wasn't impressed.

"Yeah, well, the idea is we don't let them know we're here," he pointed out. "Besides, they've clearly got some kind of plan, and I want to see how this plays out."

"You're the boss," Remy said equably. They watched in silence for a few moments until there was a flash of dark skin and raven hair as Monet literally swooped into the open doorway from her airborne position and a moment later Guido followed suit. The doorframe was too narrow for his wide shoulders but he did not appear to notice as it cracked and crumbled around him. Wolverine grinned and cracked his knuckles.

"Action!"


	18. Chapter 18

**Cortex 18: Mutant Melee**

_Inside the clubhouse, moments before_

"Not for long," said Mr Negative, grinning evilly. He gestured to the mutants gathered around him, who all formed up into a loose mob and began advancing on the two investigators, some of them drawing knives as they drew closer. James couldn't help noticing that the pair he had picked out as the most dangerous, the pale woman and the man with the hood over his head, had not moved. The other mutants, those who were not involved in the brawl threatening to break out, were running for the exits, unnoticed by any of the combatants. Teresa shrieked and a wave of sonic energy blasted through the mob of thugs, sending them tumbling and twisting through the air like twigs caught in a tornado. One of the thugs managed to stagger towards the two investigators but was punched in the throat for his troubles and fell with a gurgle. Many of the thugs were down for the count, felled by Teresa's devastating attack, but there were more than enough to cause serious problems for the two lone heroes.

"It's an ambush!" James said angrily. Mr Negative laughed mockingly.

"Of course it is, you young idiot! Did you really think you'd get anywhere near me without me knowing?"

James managed a grin, so unexpected that even the hardened gangster paused, taken aback. James even laughed coldly. "I wasn't talking to you," he said. Something dark blasted across the room from the doorway, bowling over minions and crashing right into the Chinese criminal, who was smashed out of sight into a dark corner. The mutant thugs, taken aback by the sudden disappearance of their leader, froze in their tracks.

"Heads up!" A deep voice called from the doorway. A distorted, three-armed body was hurled across the room and took out a trio of thugs trying to sneak up on Teresa. Guido waded into the brawl and started swatting aside mutants as though they were toy soldiers. Monet suddenly came flying back the same way she had come, but not under her own volition. Her skin was virtually impenetrable but it was still clear she had taken a beating. Mr Negative made his way over to where the main fighting was taking place. He was clearly shocked that any of his assailants had managed to land a blow on him, though to look at him it would appear several blows had hit home. His expensive suit was tattered and torn, his neat hair untidy and blood was trickling from his nose.

"This has gone on long enough!" he snapped at the hooded man. "Finish them!" The hooded man nodded and struck an all too familiar pose. James realised who it must be just as Rictor unleashed seismic waves through the floor towards Guido, who was battling manfully against a crowd of assailants like a stag brought to bay by wolves. The analogy was an unfortunate one, as within moments Guido was unbalanced and toppled to the floor and his attackers piled on top of him. The pale woman was no longer quiescent either, stalking through the fray towards Teresa who was using her sonic powers to shield herself. The pale woman stooped and picked something up from the floor. It glinted menacingly and James yelled a warning as he realised it was a knife.

"Terry! Watch out!"

Terry spun and emitted a shriek that partially deflected the knife as it shimmered through the air towards her. Unfortunately, the knife had been thrown too hard and fast for her to fully block its passage, but it was the hilt and not the blade that hit Teresa on the throat. The heavy weapon slammed into her neck with enough force to partially crush her windpipe and damage her vocal chords, and her shriek was abruptly cut off. With her main defence neutralised she was quickly mobbed and overwhelmed by the swarming thugs.

"Alive! I want her alive!" Negative called above the chaos. Domino grinned to herself; her powers subtly altered probability to give her almost unnatural good luck. Even as she had thrown the knife she had known precisely what it would do- neutralise Teresa without killing her, exactly as her orders demanded. There was a roar and Guido surged upright, sending his attackers flying. He charged towards Negative, but Rictor sent another seismic wave through the floor. As Guido stumbled, an abnormally thin mutant with purple skin and incredibly long limbs extended its arms and wrapped them around Guido until he was barely visible under the purple coils. He struggled and twisted but could not get free, and Rictor dashed forward. Just as Guido managed to throw off the restrictive tentacles, Rictor managed to use one of Guido's own thick legs to vault onto the massive mutant's shoulders and swing himself around until he was straddling the thick neck. He pulled what looked like a massive syringe from a pocket and stabbed furiously at Guido's neck, plunging the needle into the exposed throat again and again. Guido coughed then fell to the floor with a thunderous crash. That left James and a battered Monet alone against admittedly thinned ranks of mutant hoods. Monet used her body as a battering ram and smashed through the gathered mob to crash into Negative a second time, and for the second time the two of them vanished from sight. An instinct warned James that he was about to be attacked and he spun around, just in time for Domino's boot to catch him flush on the jaw. He reeled backwards but managed to duck another kick. As Domino was momentarily off balance he lashed out and landed a neat left hook to her chin. She simply scowled and went back on the offensive. James managed to block one punch and launch one of his own, but the alabaster woman grabbed his wrist and yanked him off balance. A dainty but powerful fist landed in his stomach then another just below his ear. He felt his vision fading and the last thing he saw before his eyes gave out was a white fist hurtling towards his face.

_Later that night_

James groaned and swore his way back into consciousness, feeling as though Guido had been using his head as a punch-bag. His vision was blurry at first but as he began to recover, his clarity increased. Unfortunately that meant that even the faintest light was like a shard of glass shoved into his eyeballs, but eventually he became accustomed to the throbbing pain and took stock of his surroundings. His colleagues were similarly strung up, most of them unconscious- only Guido was awake but as he was gazing around vacantly and muttering something about 'prettiful butterflies' it seemed that whatever Julio had injected him with had hallucinatory side-effects. A low voice muttered curses in fluent French beside him and he saw Monet was making the shameful painful journey into the world of the waking that he had. James was shocked and a little disturbed to see several bruises on Monet's face- she would walk away unscathed from a collision with a tank, so something that could have caused that kind of injury must have incredible power. The Algerian beauty saw James and for a minute her icy poise abandoned her.

"James! You're alive!" She could not disguise her joy, and not for the first time James wished she would smile like that more often. She was attractive whatever her expression, but when she smiled there was a warmth that shone through far more appealing than simple good looks. She quickly remembered herself and reverted to her normal standoffish neutrality. "Good- that means I get to kill you myself."

"I'm glad you're feeling your old self again," James said wryly. "Although killing me doesn't sound such a bad idea... maybe that way my head would stop feeling like someone buried an axe in it."

"Don't think I've ruled that out," Monet said darkly. "You lead us right into that trap- Negative must have seen us coming a mile off."

"He didn't," James said, equally grim. "Rictor did. He must have told that son-of-a-bitch everything about us, they knew exactly how to beat us all. The only thing I don't get is how they managed to catch you- the last I saw you, you were beating the crap out of the big man himself."

"He takes some beating," Monet admitted. "He managed to grab me long enough for them to stick this thing on me." She pointed at a collar around her neck, seemingly of a plain black plastic of some kind but with a complex looking device at the front. James realised he had one too, and as he looked at Guido and Teresa he noticed they were all wearing identical neckwear.

"Power dampeners?" he hazarded a guess.

"You really are a great detective, aren't you?" Monet asked sarcastically. "How some would-be gangster got his hands on tech like this is another matter entirely."

"Urgh... what happened...?" Teresa asked, stirring feebly. She was soon filled in on events and looked bleak as the ramifications hit her. They had only just filled her in when they heard Guido speaking up, his voice losing the vague, wistful tones and becoming sharp and surprised.

"Hey, where'd the butterflies go? And where the hell am I?"

"Negative's little dungeon, wearing a collar that turns off your powers," Teresa summarised their predicament neatly.

"Crap," Guido replied, summarising it even more neatly. "But what about her? Who's she?" He pointed at someone his bulk had previously been hiding from view. 'She' was only visible as a hunched shape with her knees pulled up to her chest and her face buried in her legs, only straggly, dirty blonde hair visible. She appeared oblivious to the mutant quartet who had been thrown into the cell with her until Teresa made her way over and put a gentle hand on one bony shoulder.

"Hey... you okay?" She asked softly. The blonde looked up as though only just recognising the fact she had company.

"You're... real?" she croaked in a hoarse, parched voice. "I've been here so long... I thought I must have finally snapped and been imagining things..."

"Mama Carosella didn't raise no phantoms," Guido assured her. "We're the real deal, lady." The woman looked at him, seeming surprised that anyone could retain levity in this sort of situation. James laughed disbelievingly as he recognised the bedraggled blonde.

"Val Cooper." He didn't actually sound too surprised, partly due to the fact that his throat had taken on the texture of sandpaper but partly due to the fact that life had recently been throwing up so many chances and fluke occurrences that nothing would shock him anymore.

"Have we met?" Val asked curiously. James remembered she was feeling incredibly confused but he hadn't expected amnesia... unless she was even more out of it than she appeared, which would be quite a feat.

"It's me, James," he said. "James Maddox, we meet up for a cup of coffee and to discuss the dastardly deeds of Nicholas Fury, Spymaster general."

"You're the Cortex people!" Val said. She sounded shocked and even more baffled than before. "I was supposed to liaise with you on behalf of SHIELD..."

"That's... right..." James said uncertainly. Her use of 'supposed' suggested that in fact that something entirely different had been going on. Now he came to think about it, she was looking much thinner and malnourished compared to the sleek, suited agent he remembered. Either she had discovered an _extremely _extreme diet or she had been her longer than was possible, considering he had chatted to her earlier that day.

"I never met you though," she said, frowning. It was not an upset frown; it was the kind that often adorned the faces of people grappling with half-forgotten memories. "The day I was meant to... I was attacked, knocked out... and I woke up here."

"You don't have an identical twin sister do you?" James asked hopefully. "Because I was talking to someone who looked exactly like you only a few hours ago..."

"I don't know who that was, but it wasn't me," Val said definitely. "I've been here at least a month, probably more, but it's hard to tell. Days and nights all look the same in here."

"Yeah, Art Deco it ain't," Guido agreed. "What say we bust this joint right now?"

He lumbered over to the door and weighed it up carefully.

"Don't do that Guido, the collars prevent powers working," James cautioned him.

"Maybe so, but with muscles like these I'm plenty strong anyway," Guido pointed out. He was about to take a run-up and shoulder-barge the doors when a voice could be heard from the other side.

"Do you think they've tried breaking out yet?" It was an accented voice they all recognised instantly as their treacherous former colleague Julio. "I'd like to see them try the door, that electric charge would stun an elephant."

Guido stopped a few paces short of the door. He had no particular reason to doubt that Julio was indeed telling the truth about the door's defences. He had to wonder about the odds of them being mentioned just as he was about to ram the door in question. None of the captives knew who Domino was or what her powers were, otherwise they would know it was probably her powers responsible. Monet for one certainly recognised Domino's voice when she next spoke- the last time Monet had heard it was when it had been laughing at Monet as she struggled with the power-suppressor during the failed attack on Negative.

"I doubt they'd be stupid enough not to guess there'd be extra defences," she said. Guido went scarlet inside the cell as he realised by implication that made him sound rather stupid. Of course, she had no way of knowing that but the way Monet couldn't resist a smirk told him that she hadn't missed the irony either.

"Why does Negative want them alive anyway?" Rictor asked. "I don't see what the hell we need them for."

"Information about SHIELD?" guessed Domino. "God knows that Cooper woman's no good."

"Eh, if it was me I'd just kill them," Rictor said.

"Like you did Stacy?" James said loudly. Apparently the pair outside hadn't realised the captives could hear him as there was the sound of footsteps and when he next spoke, Rictor sounded much closer.

"What did you say?" His voice was suddenly very sharp, nothing like the laidback drawl he normally adopted. "Who's Stacy?"

"You sick son of a bitch," James said, his voice tight with anger. "You betray us, you kill a defenceless girl in cold blood... and now you want us to believe you've _forgotten_? You aren't selling that shit to any of us, Richter. Remember that girl's death- because I've got every intention of avenging her."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Rictor said plaintively, and he sounded so genuinely confused that for the briefest fraction of time, James considered the ludicrous notion that the treacherous Mexican really didn't know about Stacy's death. Then his heart hardened as he saw through the trick.

"You will," he said coldly. Rictor paused briefly, apparently shocked into silence by the vehement hatred in his former colleague's voice. Then he laughed shakily and they heard his footsteps receding. The other members of Cortex Investigations all looked at their leader in surprise. They knew there was steel under his affable exterior- but they'd never guessed it had formed a blade.

"Did you really mean that?" Guido asked. "About killing him?"

"I did," James said. "Believe me, I truly did. You got a problem with that, Carosella?"

"None," Guido replied. "I just wanted a shot at him myself is all."

Normally Monet would have taken this opportunity to make a snide but witty crack about their ridiculous testosterone-fuelled machismo, but although she did her considerable best to hide it, she was troubled by something. The collar had managed to dampen Monet's physical powers but her captors where either unaware of her telepathic abilities or the technology simply couldn't completely suppress them. She had never had any trouble reading Julio's thoughts, in fact it rather depressed her that she sensed him picturing her naked every single time they ended up in the same room, and even when he mistakenly believed himself alone and out of range. In his surprise and frustration, Julio had just abandoned any attempt at mental shielding, and she had read his every thought with clarity. There was no way he could have been faking that kind of shocked bewilderment, and she knew a psyche alteration when she saw one- and the one she had discerned in his subconscious was a masterful and comprehensive one. That meant that there was a distinct possibility that Julio had not betrayed them at all, or at least not intentionally... and _that _meant one of the very few certainties they had in this whole nightmare had just been ripped away. She decided not to mention this to anyone yet, as she was still not sure what to make of it or what to do about it; besides, the day Monet St Croix admitted to being confused would be the day she spent less than two hundred dollars on a pair of shoes- it would never ever happen under any circumstances.

Julio stormed down the corridor, his face set grimly but his dark eyes blazing with anger and frustration. Domino walked beside him, or more accurately, just behind him. For once in her life she felt like a ship before a storm, swept along against her will by forces beyond comprehension. It was not a feeling she relished. Julio stopped at the window of the room Layla was locked in. Through the window of the door he could see her lying upside down on the bed, her head hanging over the side. Even inverted, her eyes held wisdom and knowledge far greater than her years. He glowered at her through the window.

"You know stuff," he growled. "So tell me this- who is Stacy? What happened to her?"

Layla rolled over with insolent slowness and met his eyes with total confidence.

"She will set you free," she said simply. He gave her the glare that had once made Guido cower like a toddler before a tiger, but she maintained perfect equanimity and met his gaze placidly. He gave up and whirled to face Domino, who was standing at his shoulder. The glare was still in full effect and the pale mutant had to make a concerted effort not to recoil.

"Come with me," he barked before blowing through the corridors like an extremely localised tornado. Domino was not sure whether he'd been asking for or demanding her company but felt it was safer not to risk it. She knew from personal experience how passionate he could be when he dropped the _laissez-faire _attitude he generally adopted, but she had never seen it funnelled into anger before and she was more put out that she would admit. Rictor for his part was just as much confused as angry. It was infuriating enough that his former team-mates should refer to a killing he never committed, but the one person he had hoped may shed some light on the matter had only made things more confusing than before.

"She will set you free," he muttered to himself. "Free from what? And who is 'she?'" He remembered Miller telling him something like that before, although he could not quite make the two memories correlate exactly- it was as though some detail did not quite add up. It suddenly hit him- the name! The name was different... last time, it had been Amanda, no, Miranda, Miranda who would 'set him free' but this time it was Stacy, the same Stacy he had apparently murdered and completely forgotten about. So how could it be that two completely different women could _both _set him free... unless the prescient girl wasn't referring to two women at all... there was one, the same woman going under two different names. But why would she have two names? There was only one possibility in Julio's mind: one name was a street alias, one was the real name never used. Stacy/Miranda was a criminal, presumably working for Negative. He had to find her now, if only to find out what the fuck was going on.

All these thoughts had passed through Julio's head in moments, and his feet appeared to be operating on similar lines to his brain; somehow, without conscious thought they had taken him to a room that looked much like any other except for the advanced electronic locking system attached to the handle. Like many others in positions of high power and low repute, Martin Li found himself constantly maintaining files of information about rivals and employees in order to keep their web of underhand dealings and criminal acts from unravelling spectacularly. This was the room those records were kept in, according to rumour, and Julio had no reason to doubt it. He contemplated simply blasting the doors down but thought the better of it; there was a chance he was wrong, and even if he was right such a flamboyant gesture would only attract the wrath of his employer.

"Rictor, what the hell are you playing at?" Domino hissed at him.

"Answers," he said simply. He didn't know what the questions were, only the one who could answer them, and once he had found her he could then find out the wider questions about what was happening. His natural instinct as a criminal was to attach himself to a more powerful, influential gangster, like a remora to a shark, but that same instinct told him that if he was being crossed or tricked then vengeance was not only appropriate but expected. There was also a quieter but equally insistent voice in his mind demanding the truth, the same voice that echoed in his sleep and whispered in his ears as he tried to sleep. It somehow seemed to come from very far away... or possibly a long time ago.

"Answers?" Domino repeated disbelievingly. "To what? The only question breaking into Mr Negative's personal, private records in the middle of his main headquarters is going to end up answering is 'how will you die?'"

"As if you care," Julio muttered. He liked the alabaster woman more than he'd care to admit and got on very well with her even outside of the bedroom, but he was under no impressions that she saw him as anything other than a useful colleague and a decent lay. If she tried to get in his way he would not hesitate to remove her as forcefully as necessary, and save the regret for a time he could afford the luxury of guilt.

"I do," Domino insisted. "Don't do this, Richter. You know as well as I do this won't work, there's no way it can. Negative will kill you without blinking, he'll probably enjoy doing it. Richter... Julio... don't throw your life away for pointless answers to stupid questions." She stepped between the door and the vengeful Mexican, trying to dissuade him with her presence. For a moment it looked like it might just work: he paused and his grim expression wavered briefly. Then his face tightened and he raised his hands.

"Don't throw yours away trying to stop me," he suggested forcefully. Her dark, blue-black eyes met his brown ones and for a moment they simply stood as their gazes met and their wills battled for dominance. It was Domino who finally broke, stepping aside with a bowed head. Julio felt a pang of remorse but his mind was set and he would not waver from his course now. He extended a finger towards the lock. Most of the time he would channel through both hands but this job would need precision. He visualised the internal workings of the lock then sent vibratory waves into the mechanism. The cogs that operated the bar trembled and shook until his powers jolted them into twisting backwards and releasing the lock. The door swung open and he barged inside. The records were kept on a computer run and maintained by a pale, troglodyte mutant whose powers somehow linked it psychically to the hardware and data of the machine. This left it totally inexperienced with the process of interacting with real human beings, particularly the kind of interaction that involved one person trying to punch another very hard in the face. The albino creature keeled over backwards and Julio quickly started typing, pressing keys furiously. He soon found he kept running into firewalls and password encryptions, and while he was a decent hacker he did not have a lot of time. He needed a distraction of some kind, and with his powers that would be easy enough to create, but to do it he would have to leave the room and risk losing the progress he had made so far. As he agonised over the decision, he was dealt an almost miraculous break. Alarms started ringing to sound the attack warning- someone, some foolhardy suicidal idiot was actually trying to attack Mr Negative on his own ground and in the presence of his toughest minions. Rictor only hoped that they would last long enough to allow him to complete his task.

In his luxuriously furnished office, Martin Li had been relaxing with a glass of expensive wine and an expensive whore when his chief lieutenant, a powerful psychic named Quire had rushed in, breathless. Li whirled on the man and glowered furiously at him; there had better be an extremely good reason for this interruption otherwise Li would have this presumptuous idiot slowly sliced into pieces and fed to feral dogs while the man was forced to watch his own agonising death. The man must have guessed how close he was to an extremely painful end, or else was so panicked by the news he had that he had foregone the usual pleasantries and protocols.

"Mr Li, sir! Someone's trying to break into the records!" The man babbled. Li's eyes narrowed as he considered the news. It was extremely bad fortune but what made it even worse was the fact that the records were kept in this very building, and the computer was inaccessible by any exterior machinery, up to and including SHIELD spy technology. That in turn meant the intruder must be in the same room as the computer, and the only way that was possible was if one of his men turned traitor and tried to break in himself, or somehow managed to smuggle an outsider into the building. Neither possibility was particularly promising, but you didn't battle your way up the crime hierarchy by losing your head every time something went wrong.

"Any idea who it was?" He asked.

"Nothing definite but the most likely suspect at this stage is Rictor," the lieutenant replied. Li frowned. Rictor was apparently totally immersed in his new, altered persona and he had been converted only recently, so there was no chance that the process could be wearing off. That only happened very rarely and never so quickly... unless of course the person who had confirmed the transition had been lying about its success. That would mean that at least two of his best fighting minions had both turned coat, maybe they were only the figureheads of a wider movement? He told himself to calm down. Maybe it wasn't even Rictor, maybe there was some other explanation. Whatever the case, he needed it investigated, he needed it solved and he needed it done now.

"Get everyone you can ready, get him out and get this over with," he snapped at the lieutenant.

"Right away," the man confirmed, but he had not even made it out of the room when the alarms began going again, this time in a slightly different pattern, signalling a different threat.

"What now!" Li demanded of the uncaring world, but got no reply.

"An exterior threat," the lieutenant supplied nervously. "People attacking the building from the outside."

"But there's no one who would do that!" Li said brusquely. "There's been no violence between us for months... Get Shinto and Keller down to investigate, the rest of them to find whoever it is who thinks they can break into my records and tear the bastard in half! Is that clear?"

"Completely." The lieutenant gulped and hurried away. He would not want to be any of the poor souls who had just incurred the anger of Mr Negative. Come to think of it, he'd rather not be himself right now... but at least he wasn't them.

Julian Keller had considered himself going up in the world. So what if he had been defeated by those Cortex jerks? There had been a lot more of them than of him, and he had given them such a fight that he had been recruited full-time by Negative and promoted to one of the gangster's chief enforcers. Now on the other hand he was beginning to wonder if his meteoric rise was about to hit a particularly hard and unforgiving ceiling. Whoever dared to take on Negative and his men on their home ground was confident to the point of stupidity, but what if they weren't stupid? What if they really did have the power and prowess to see this attack through? The choice of companion in this mission was not particularly reassuring, either. Shinto could transform himself into a human furnace, generating flames that could melt through steel while leaving him untouched. His power was so destructive that Negative reserved it for only the most desperate situations, and if he had been sent for now...

"What's that?" Shinto suddenly asked. They had reached the door apparently under attack, but except for a few unconscious goons it seemed deserted. Through the half open door they could hear the sound of fighting, or more accurately the sound of mismatched thugs being utterly trounced by superior foes. The thugs had clearly thought to take the fight to the attackers and just as clearly were now being thoroughly and utterly defeated. Julian waved at the door and it swung shut. He made a cut-throat gesture at Shinto then nodded at the door. The Japanese mutant nodded understanding. It was now obvious that the attackers would manage to get to the door, but when they did they would find it defended by a much higher calibre of enemy than a few two-bit street toughs.

The door had masked any sound of further fighting, but from the way it was rattling the attackers had clearly won the day and were trying to break in. The two criminals braced themselves, ready for action, but even so they could not help recoiling slightly in shock when metal talons suddenly tore through the door hinges and it was kicked inwards. A squat, hairy figure was revealed lurking outside, the metal claws glinting on each fist. Shinto was the first to react, hurling a blast of solar flame at the intruder that blew him off his feet and blazing through the air like a small meteor. The two gangsters paused but no-one else emerged to take the feral man's place. Shinto made his way forward to investigate. As he stepped cautiously outside, a familiar smell reached his nostrils: the stench of ozone and charred flesh that was left behind by his attacks. He relaxed, sure no-one could have survived that... until he heard a scraping noise to his left and saw a shape lurching towards him. The figure stepped into view, and to Shinto's astonishment was revealed to be the metal-clawed man, alive against all odds. His clothing had been seared off and his scalp was bald and shiny where the fire had burned away his hair, but the man was very much upright and extremely angry. Before Shinto's dumbfounded eyes, the burns covering the man's exposed torso started to heal and fade away.

"Alright, bub," the man said, brandishing his talons, "Let's try that one again."


	19. Chapter 19

**Cortex 19: Converging Fates**

_Inside the Headquarters_

Shinto and Julian backed away from the ferocious attacker, who they both recognised as the infamous Wolverine. Even if the adamantium claws hadn't given him away, there were very few people who could survive one of Shinto's blasts and even fewer who could simply get back up within moments. Shinto had at least had the common sense to sound the alarm the instant the man had apparently risen from the dead, but the few moments it would take for reinforcements to arrive appeared to take millennia. The feral Canadian roared and ran towards them, a blast from Shinto shooting past his head and blowing a crater in the wall. Julian had more success; although his attack did no physical harm to the rampaging X-Man, it threw him backwards and all the ground he had made up was taken from him as he found himself hanging onto the doorframe to avoid being blown away completely. There were yells as more of Negative's men joined the fray and one of them ran right towards Logan, blocking him from Julian's view and forcing him to stop his attack. The impetuous thug soon regretted his enthusiasm as he was elbowed in the face and sent unconscious to the floor. None of the newcomers were as powerful as Julian or Shinto, the majority of the real heavy-hitters being dispatched to deal with the intruder into the record system. The only advantage they had over Logan was sheer numbers, an advantage he was making swift headway in reducing.

"Fuck me," Julian breathed as he watched the Canadian tearing through the assembled thugs. Logan's reputation as an animal was not without justification, but he was an animal that had been tamed and trained. It was not just brute force and savagery behind his attack, there was finesse and surprising grace in his movements. A tall, rock-skinned mutant managed to punch Logan in the face and send him to his knees, but in the same movement Logan dropped into a crouch and lashed out with one leg, sweeping the rock-man's legs from beneath him and jabbing claws into his stomach as he fell. Soon there were only three or four mutants between Julian and the raging Logan, but he was struck by sudden inspiration. He made a gesture and a green bubble enveloped Logan's head.

"What's that?" Shinto demanded.

"Forcefield," Julian explained tersely. Even if he had felt like explaining more thoroughly, he couldn't; he was having trouble maintaining the energy bubble against Logan's ferocious struggles. The Japanese pyrokinetic looked at his friend with a mixture of fear and shock.

"What? A forcefield? You're making him _stronger_?"

"The hell I am," Julian grated. "Thing about the forcefield is, if I push myself I can make it practically impenetrable. Nothing gets through... including oxygen."

Shinto laughed as the sadistic cunning behind his colleague's plan became clear. Not only were even adamantium claws no defence, but it was a tactic even Logan's legendary powers of healing could protect him from- suffocation was not physical damage to be stitched back together. They could see Logan beginning to struggle. His mutant physiology made his body much more efficient and he could survive much longer without air than most- but it was not without limit. Shinto was so cheered by their success that he began to taunt the ailing Logan.

"So much for the mighty Wolverine! Were you such an idiot you thought you could fight us all on your own?"

"Logan's no idiot," a voice said behind them. "And he didn't come alone."

The two thugs spun but were flattened by two neat blows from Remy's staff. As soon as Julian collapsed into unconsciousness, the mental constructs he had been creating were wiped into oblivion. In this case, that included the bubble of psychic energy that had slowly been asphyxiating Logan. The Canadian managed to stop himself gasping for breath, but even his superhuman physique could not recover from that kind of punishment without strain. He glared at Remy from his position kneeling on the floor.

"Could ya have cut it any finer, Cajun?" he demanded. Remy looked completely unabashed.

"Would you like me to try?" he asked. "Sides, I ran into a little trouble of my own. Something's got these guys worked up real good."

"Fine by me," Logan grunted. "I ain't feeling so laid back myself."

"Then let's get this done and get out of here, oui?" Remy suggested. "I'm looking forward to a whole night's sleep in a real bed again."

"C'mon Cajun," Logan said wearily. "None of us're gettin any sleep til this is done. Let's just hope whatever's distracting these guys stays distracting. Anything keeping these assholes off'f our backs has to be a good thing."

"Goddamn it!" Rictor thumped a fist against the uncooperative computer in frustration. The screen trembled and flexed warningly and he quickly stopped, realising he was on the verge of unleashing his powers, which would destroy the computer and make his task impossible. He knew he had only moments before Negative's pet thugs arrived and he would be forced to defend himself. He stopped abruptly with his fingers hovering above the keyboard as the implications of his last thought suddenly struck him so hard it prevented even his current pressing task. He had thought of them as 'Negative's thugs' and by inference that made them his enemies and marked them as a different allegiance to his own. But since when had he decided he wasn't one of Negative's men anymore? At what stage had he suddenly cut ties with Negative's gang and set off on his own divergent course? The most pressing issue of course was what was to be done with his sudden newfound independence...

"You've got incoming!" A husky voice interrupted his thoughts suddenly and a slender, white-skinned hand was placed on his shoulder. He looked around to see Domino looking down at him with an unreadable expression on her face. He looked up at her in surprise which soon escalated into bewilderment when she shoved him out of the chair.

"Go!" she instructed him. "I'm much more likely to find the information you need than you are, and someone's got to watch our backs out there."

There was sense in what she said but he could find none in why she had said it. Domino was nothing if not unpredictable but even Rictor himself was unsure what had suddenly come over him and where it would lead him, so why would she be so quick to throw her lot in with his own?

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, disbelieving. "Why are you helping me? You know as well as I do that this won't work... it can't." He realised he had just thrown back at her the exact words she had used to try and dissuade him originally. If she appreciated the irony, or if she even noticed, she did not let it show.

"A hunch," she explained. "I've learned to trust my instincts."

"Well, I guess that makes it okay then," Julio said, slightly nonplussed. With her powers it did make a certain amount of sense that her instincts would be much more reliable than most, but enough for her to make such an important decision? That didn't seem so likely... He shrugged the questions off. There was no time for such distractions; there was only time for fighting with everything he had. He was just brushing past her when she grabbed his arm to stop him and her other arm snaked around his neck and pulled his head down. Their lips met in a kiss that seemed to sear his soul and ignite the very air around them in its passionate intensity. Fighting be damned, this was a development he could not ignore. He found his arms had wrapped themselves around her and held her close to him. He looked into those grey eyes and wondered if he would ever understand this woman.

"Another hunch?" He asked, for lack of anything more appropriate. She smiled.

"No, that was because I wanted to," she said. She kissed him again, more gently but with equal ardour, then propelled him towards the door. "Now go! Give me time to do what I can..."

"Right," Julio said weakly. He had given up trying to second-guess the impossible curve-balls fate was throwing him and resolved to stick to what he did know and knew well- fighting with every fibre of his being and with all the conviction and resolve of his soul. He peered out of the doorway and saw a trio of mutant thugs advancing down the corridor towards him. They did not seem particularly powerful, their mutations taking the form of extra limbs or toughened hides, and he sent a seismic wave through the ground that smashed them off their feet in a jumble of limbs. It was a good defensive position; the doorframe protected him and he could see both ends of the corridor from his vantage point, so no-one would be able to sneak up on him and take him unawares. He leant out and sent shockwaves through the corridors again, their narrowness working in his favour. Not only did it force attackers to bunch up but in the confines they were particularly liable to bashing their heads or limbs against something, whether a wall or just another mutant. He assumed that the intruders, whoever they may be, were tying up the strongest, most powerful of Negative's followers. He heard Domino saying something behind him but couldn't concentrate hard enough to make out what it was. Several of his felled attackers had got back up to join the new arrivals and now there were just enough to make him worry he couldn't stop them all in time.

"I've found it!" Domino called again. With her powers she had simply guessed the codes and passwords she needed, and like her hunches, her guesses tended to pay off very well. She had taken five minutes or so to do what would have taken Julio several hours at the very least to accomplish. There was no time to celebrate the success, though- the assembled gangsters had made a concerted rush towards their small refuge. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and although clichéd the old adage rang true as Julio prepared himself to take a desperate chance. He stepped out of the room, ignoring Domino's surprised gasp as he placed himself squarely in the middle of the corridor, facing down the charging mutants. He braced himself and began releasing seismic energy, but instead of aiming and focussing his powers he simply unleashed them without any barriers or restraints, pouring them into the structure of the corridor. The floor contorted like a dying serpent and the walls began creaking and cracking as they tried to cope with the energy flowing into them. As the very air around him began to shimmer and pulse, Julio began feeling an immense sensation of light-headed euphoria. He had never let himself loose before; always he had refined and targeted the immense power at his disposal. The ceiling began buckling and cracks were running through the floor and walls as he began to laugh, drunk on power. The charge had been halted by his display of power and now the mutants were beginning to back off, cowed by the sight of the cackling lunatic with earthquakes at his finger-tips. Julio laughed even louder as he tried to drown out a low rumbling noise; they were totally right to be afraid of him- once he was done with this corridor, he would destroy the whole damn building, and why stop there? He could wreck city blocks with a flick of his arm... it was only a forceful slap across his face that brought him down from his power-induced rapture. He whirled to see who would dare to lay a hand on him, but the sight of Domino gazing at him quickly acted as the metaphorical ice-water, pulling him out of his power-induced rapture. He saw that the corridor had crumbled and fallen into rubble around him, and realised that he had somehow overdosed on his own power and lost conscious control.

"That should buy us a few moments," Domino said laconically. They went inside the room and she showed him what she had found. The only record matching both Stacy and Miranda was that of a Miranda Keevald, who worked under the name of Stacy X. Miranda/Stacy was a mutant prostitute who worked for a pimp in Negative's employ. The name certainly seemed to be significant to Julio, he knew he had heard it before somewhere... he read on and discovered that she was marked as having her 'contract terminated' though he doubted it was not just her services brought to an end. The one charged with the disposal was apparently a petty thug working under the alias of 'Vincente.' That name Julio definitely knew- it was the name of the man he and Domino had killed in the warehouse. Suddenly-

_... A scaly-skinned girl with eyes not totally dimmed by the harsh realities of her life..._

_...the dead body of the same girl, her neck broken, but the camera showing no sign of the killer..._

_... who could only have got in by somehow using the plumbing or ventilation of the building, someone who could reduce their size, or transform their state into one more suitable, like... like Vincente could..._

_... very specific footage deleted from the files, easily doable by someone who could break into any room with a door, or air conditioning, just enough to lay suspicion on Julio himself..._

- He realised exactly what had happened. It had been Vincente that had killed Stacy, who had been under Julio's own protection. The gaseous killer had then used his powers to infiltrate the rest of the building and set things up until Julio would be placed as prime suspect as the murderer. In the state of tension and confusion, it would not be long until Julio stumbled into the arms of Mr Negative, who could use Julio's talents as an enforcer but also in robbery or protection rackets. The Chinese crime-lord would no doubt have taken sadistic pleasure in sending Julio himself to kill Vincente, the only person outside Negative himself who could ever reveal the truth behind events. Of course, that had not been true after all, as there was a third party with knowledge of the real killer: a prescient young girl called Layla Miller. Julio suddenly felt a sensation like snapping out of a waking dream- what had come before had seemed totally real, until he had suddenly woken up to find it had been nothing of the kind. He had a horrible headache, the side-effect of overdoing his powers and fighting against Negative's mental conditioning, but he knew he couldn't let it slow him down. He had three priorities: rescue his friends, track down Negative to find out what the gangster had done to him, and kill the evil son-of-a-bitch. He was about to set off on the first of these tasks when he was struck by a sudden thought. In his new state of mental clarity he suddenly remembered who had been there when Negative had captured him, and then when he had killed Vincente... Domino. Had the alabaster woman been playing him all along? He doubted it; over their time together their professional relationship had progressed into genuine, albeit somewhat dysfunctional, friendship with definite benefits and then into whatever the hell had just happened in those mad moments before he had unleashed his powers in the corridor.

"Domino?" He asked. He wasn't sure what he would ask her, or what her likely reaction was to be, but he realised she had quickly made it a moot point when he saw a shapely black-clad leg vanish around a corner. He realised that whatever had passed through his mind had obviously shown on his face, and for whatever reason she may have, Domino had realised its importance and decided she didn't want to face the inevitable questions. For a moment he was torn by indecision- should he go after her? She may be able to give him some of the answers, and he would feel safer with someone to watch his back- and besides, what if she really had fooled him all this time and was now going to warn Negative of his treachery? Then again, he had his friends to think of... he wavered indecisively until he heard the sound of onrushing footsteps from round one corner and a green-skinned, reptilian looking mutant scrambled nimbly over the rubble. He managed to blow the mutant right back where it came from but there was no way he would risk being dragged into a melee he could avoid, so he turned and sprinted away in the opposite direction.

The ceiling shook violently again and the two avenging X-Men both paused slightly. The first time it had happened the whole building had seemed to be shaking and trembling, but since then there had been a few smaller tremors, aftershocks to the main quake itself. Of course, that didn't mean they were to be taken lightly.

"Merde," Remy swore under his breath. "What part of this plan involved an earthquake, homme?"

"The part where you shut up and keep moving," Logan growled. Neither of them were entirely comfortable with the situation. They had originally intended on breaking in, releasing the captives and teaming up with them to fight free. The first deviation had come when their attack had coincided with another by an as-yet unrevealed third party. Now the whole building seemed to be rocked by massive tremors, possibly due to the attacks of this mysterious other attacker, but whoever the attacker may be, Logan and Remy both knew that they didn't much like the idea of going up against someone who could potentially destroy whole buildings singlehanded.

"Easy for you to say," Remy muttered to himself. "You're indestructible."

"So you'd better hope we get out of here before it all comes down," Logan replied from up ahead. Remy scowled to himself. He'd forgotten just how sharp Logan's ears were, and how acute his instincts could be. He saw Logan pause and sniff the air.

"Look sharp Cajun, we got company!" The Canadian growled and threw himself forwards. There was the sound of yells and meaty thuds as Logan took the fight to his enemies and Remy drew three cards, fanned them out, and charged them with energy before he too joined the fray. Operating on pure reflex, he threw the cards at the back of a hulking, hunchbacked giant grappling with Logan. The cards exploded on contact with the brute's back, which arched in agony and its arms flew wide, releasing Logan. The Canadian spun around and sliced claws across each of the big mutant's knees. The thug slumped forwards and Logan turned to face fresh assailants, leaving the huge thug for Remy to finish off. The Cajun thief delivered the coup-de-grace with aplomb, swinging his staff against the thick neck with a wet whacking sound. The thug keeled over, the nerve centre below his knee battered into inactivity. Watching their biggest asset felled with ease, the fight left the other mutants and the few that weren't taken out by Logan started to run. Remy scooped up a handful of coins that had dropped from the big one's pockets and charged them up before throwing the whole bundle at the fleeing thugs. The coins went off almost at once, and the sound, flashes of light and sheer percussive force of the attack was akin to setting off a firework in the confined space of the corridor.

"How many of these guys are there?" Remy wondered aloud. They knew Negative was an influential and high-ranking criminal but they had fought their way through four or five different groups of thugs by now, and even the smallest group had had at least six or seven members in it. The streets must be nearly cleaned of mutant hoods as they had all ended up here instead. Although he didn't know it, Remy wasn't far off the truth with that supposition; with the successful abduction of Layla Miller and the capture of Cortex Investigations, Negative had realised there was a distinct possibility that the mutant detectives' paymasters in SHIELD might well come looking for them, and in preparation had drawn in every thug in his employee and called in all the favours he was owed to make sure he had as many defenders as possible. As it turned out, even that was looking like it might be too few.

"Quit jawing Cajun, we might not have a lot of time here," Logan called. Remy followed the Canadian, but shook his head to himself. He was as anxious as the next man to find Layla, after all Remy was the only one who had met her and although he would not have admitted it to anyone he had become very fond of the odd little girl in their brief encounter. However, he was swiftly learning that even a personal edge and superb physique was no match for a determined Wolverine on a mission. As they charged through the corridors, Remy realised they were slowly working their way upwards. They had progressed up several stairways, and only his superb reflexes had prevented him being blown back down to the bottom of one of them, but it was only now that he realised what progress they had made. Suddenly a bolt of what looked like purple lightning scorched past him and blew a hole in the wall and he realised that they still had a long way to go.

Julio had not been paying much attention to where he had been going, as long as it was away from the very large, very angry mob of mutants pursuing him then it would be fine by him. However, his surroundings began to look familiar and he slowed briefly to try and take his bearings. He realised he was close to the unofficial prison where Negative kept his prisoners, and therefore Julio's friends. On the other hand, a daring break-out would not be easy, or even very sensible. As far as the other members were concerned, Julio was a treacherous murderer, and it seemed unlikely they'd believe his rambling stories of brainwashing and frame-ups- he had a hard time believing it himself, and he'd been the one it had happened to. It was possible that he could somehow convince Monet of his innocence, she was a telepath after all, but it was equally possible and a whole lot more probable that given the chance she would crush him like an orange, mentally, psychically or both. Another option of course was simply blasting down the door and running for his life, but they'd recognise his powers immediately, and see his flight as proof of guilt... but he couldn't just leave them there, either.

'_Monet?' _he ventured tentatively. He had never worked out if there was a certain way to project thoughts to a telepath but from the scathing glances he had often received before he was pretty confident that she knew all too well what he was thinking.

'_Yes?' _the familiar cold tone replied instantly. It was even frostier than normal, which was saying something, but on the other hand his head was still the same shape and his brain was still functioning, so it appeared he had at least a few moments to try and convince her of his innocence.

'_I'm innocent, I promise,' _he 'said.' _'You're a telepath, you can tell that I'm not lying or anything, right?'_

'_You always were pathetically transparent,' _Monet shot back. True, she was being abrasive and abrupt as always but in her own brusque way she was acknowledging the truth of his words. Her next words were even more promising. _'I cannot say I'm surprised they managed to brainwash you so easily.'_

'_You know about that?'_

'_I'm a better telepath than any of the amateurs working for this lowlife,' _Monet said haughtily. _'But don't think I'm just going to accept your little sob story. I know you've had psychic alteration, but I don't know when. For all I know you really are a traitor and they did this about something completely different.'_

Julio had to concede she had a point there. Unfortunately he didn't have any way to prove her wrong, so instead he had to keep improvising his plans and just hope that the end did not come via the fists, mind or sonic waves of an ex-team-mate. Were they ex-colleagues now? Technically they were back on the same side after all... he realised he was prevaricating, trying to put off the moment he would have to abandon his fate to chance. _'Look, if I bust you out of this place, will it prove to you I'm really on your side now?'_

'_No, but it might just mean I don't wring your miserable neck the instant I get my hands on you,_' Monet said. Julio knew that that was probably the most he was likely to get out of her so he braced himself and prepared to blow the door down. He knew there were defences built into the door, including some kind of psychic deadlock, but that would prove no defence against his powers. He quickly smashed the door off and it went flying backwards in an impressive shower of sparks as the electric defences malfunctioned and shorted out. There was no sign of life from inside and he edged closer to check he had destroyed the right door. "Guys...? You ther- arrgh!"

Before he could dodge or jump aside a huge shape flashed in his vision and a fist the seize of a basketball had grabbed his throat and pinned him against the wall with his legs dangling helplessly. Guido's grip was too strong for Julio to move his head but he did manage to roll his eyes towards Monet.

"Grghl?" he chocked imploringly. She folded her arms and looked at him scornfully.

"I said _I _wouldn't wring your neck," she said smugly. "I never said anything about the others."

"Wrgt!" Julio could feel himself becoming dizzy as the blood flow to his brain slowly dried up.

"Oh, fine... put him down Guido," she said. The big mutant opened his fist and Julio slid to the bottom of the wall, lying slumped on the floor gasping for breath and with bruises clearly visible on his neck.

"Talk, now," Guido instructed menacingly.

"Cn't... n'... ar... 'n... throt..." Julio managed to gasp out. He coughed and gagged as the air began flowing through his lungs again and the muscles of his throat loosened up a little. Eventually he regained the power of coherent speech and began trying to rationalise what had happened.

"Look, I know what it looked like, but I swear I didn't kill Stacy," he said quickly. "I was set up by Mr Negative." The others looked sceptical and he quickly explained what he had found out, or at least tried to. Everyone looked at Monet, who could use her powers to discern if he was telling the truth. She nodded slowly and Julio managed to relax slightly... until Guido next spoke.

"Maybe that's so, maybe it's not," he said. "But it don't explain why Negative was so well prepared when we got there. Only one person could have told him exactly how to fight us all- and don't think I've forgotten you stabbing me in the neck with a damn needle, either."

"Negative brainwashed me," Julio explained. "Or got someone else to do it. Back then I really thought I was on his side, but now I've got my real memories and stuff back."

"That sounds real convenient," Guido muttered. He was taking Julio's betrayal even more personally than the rest of them, most likely down to the previously mentioned 'stabbing with a needle' incident. Teresa and James were not looking overly impressed by his story either, and Monet was doing nothing to back up his claims.

"It's true, I swear!" he protested. "Ask Monet, she'll tell you, she's read my mind."

"Someone did _something _to him," she confirmed. "And he definitely believes what he's saying."

"How can you tell?" Teresa asked suddenly, apparently struck by a sudden thought. "We're all still wearing these damn power-dampener things."

"When that albino bitch put this thing on me she clearly didn't know I was a telepath," Monet said dismissively. "When I get my hands on her, I'll show her power-dampening..."

"No you won't," Julio said definitely. "She's helped me get you out, without her you'd never be freed."

"Without her I wouldn't have _needed _to be freed," Monet pointed out. If they noticed Julio's hasty defence of Domino or suspected the reasons behind it, none of them let it show. There was an extremely uncomfortable silence as Julio waited for his friends to reach a verdict.

"So if, purely hypothetically, but if I _did _believe you," James began slowly, "What exactly are you proposing to do next?"

"The same thing I'd do if you don't believe me," Julio said. "Go after Negative and kill the son of a bitch with my bare hands for what he's done." He was impressed with how level and calm his voice sounded, but inwardly he was quivering anxiously. Although it was true enough that his ultimate plan involved finding the ruthless, amoral gangster, he had an exponentially higher chance of victory- or of survival, for that matter- with these three at his side. There was also great satisfaction, pleasure and relief to be had in the thought they believed him and accepted him back amongst them, but that none of that was going to affect whether he managed to capture Negative or not; he had to stay focussed on the mission, not the ones undertaking it.

"It would have to be with your bare hands anyway," Teresa interjected. "We can't get these damn collars off, and until we do... no powers."

Julio simply focussed and waved a hand and four collars shook themselves into pieces.

"Four?" Julio asked bemusedly, noticing the discrepancy. The last time he had checked, there had only been three detectives in the agency not including himself, and no-one had ever mentioned any other prisoner. A gaunt, unkempt blonde woman had appeared and stepped up to join the mutant detectives. Julio had to fight not to wince at the sight of the woman. She was pale and bony and clearly hadn't been fed or clean for a long time.

"Valerie Cooper, Agent of SHIELD," the blonde woman introduced herself. She may have looked malnourished but her upright poise and confidence clearly hadn't abandoned her during her captivity. Julio nodded greeting; he recognised the name vaguely but if the others seemed okay with the blonde joining them then he was in no position to contradict them. There was a long uncomfortable silence. As far as Julio knew, he had said all he could and it was up to the others what they did next.

"Well... bye..." He said awkwardly. He turned and hurried away, and the others instinctively looked to James for leadership, but the detective simply watched Julio's back until it vanished around a corner, and made no move to follow the penitent Mexican.

"You don't believe him then?" Guido hazarded. James' face was grim and resolute; whatever decision he had made he was clearly not going to waver from. His voice was equally bleak.

"I believe that whatever made him betray us, he didn't do it without at least a bit of prompting from someone else," James explained. "But that doesn't change the fact that he _did _betray us. Besides, if his mind really was altered how do we know everything went back exactly as it was?"

The logic made sense, although of course just letting Julio go on his own was not a master plan- if he was somehow still working for Mr Negative and this was part of a massive conspiracy, then he would be able to get away and report that he had succeeded. On the other hand, if he was telling the truth and really was completely free from whatever had affected him then it seemed unfair, almost cruel, to let him try and take Negative and his bodyguards on all alone. Teresa and Guido both looked confused and anxious, and although Monet kept her habitual expression of indifference on her face, inwardly she was glad it was James who had to make the call.

"We're going after Negative," he said decisively. "If that means we work with Julio, then we work with him. If it doesn't... then he can watch his own back on this one."

"Watch your back!" Remy called. He threw a card a mutant crawling up behind Logan. The kinetic discharge set the mutant rolling along the floor and crashing into a wall. Logan did not look grateful for Remy's intervention, or even particularly surprised beyond a raised eyebrow.

"Huh, tougher than I thought he was," he commented. He kept moving and Remy once again set off in pursuit, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath about Logan's lack of gratitude. So what if he had saved Remy once or twice, okay four or five times already? At least Remy had thanked him for it. Resistance was gradually dying away, and was now almost non-existent except for the few poor souls who accidentally wandered into the path of the avenging X-Men. When Remy had mentioned this, Logan had simply scowled, expecting the lack of opposition to simply mean all survivors had been drawn back for a last stand. If that was the case, the last fight would be the hardest of all, as all the defenders would have a grudge against him and Remy, and with no way out except to kill the pair the gangsters would be fighting with everything they had.

Logan growled as a man with long, dark hair dashed across the junction at the end of the corridor. He set off in pursuit, realising the man must be trying to get to wherever Negative was holed up. Remy ran beside him and the saw the man pause as he ran into a thick door, almost literally. The man swore in Spanish.

"What's wrong bub? Friends left you out as bait?" Logan said mockingly, advancing slowly on the man. Surprisingly, the man did not look particularly scared, although he did flinch slightly as his eyes fell on the adamantium claws protruding from Logan's fists.

"I haven't got time for this!" he growled. He flung a hand out towards them and the floor convulsed and heaved underfoot, throwing even the agile Remy onto his backside. Logan looked even angrier than before, annoyed that the other man had somehow managed to catch him off guard. It was only when he saw Remy on his knees groaning that Logan realised there was more to the attack which his healing factor must have somehow protected him from. He growled and charged towards the Hispanic-looking mutant, who now had an expression of extreme consternation that his powers had failed him.

"I'm getting through that door, kid," Logan warned him. "Don't think I won't go through you to get there."

"I'm trying to get through too," the man said hurriedly. Logan slowed and the man talked hurriedly, aware that he was quite possibly bargaining for his life. "I mean, I'm after Negative too, we're on the same side here!"

"Keep talking," Logan growled. He had now stopped advancing completely but was only feet away from the other man, whose eyes never left the claws brandished so close to his face.

"Negative attacked my friends and tried to brainwash me," the man said. "I'm going to make sure he doesn't get away with it."

"Alright," Logan said simply. Remy looked at his companion in shock, and the man appeared equally shocked but also hugely relieved. Logan must have sensed the Cajun's astonishment as he quickly explained his uncharacteristic good faith. "He's telling the truth, I can smell a lie a mile off. Sides, if I thought he _was _lying to me, well..." His voice trailed off as he scratched his chin significantly, the huge metal claws glinting menacingly. He paused to make sure that his point- well, all six points really- had been made, then advanced on the door. He roared and swiped with his claws, tearing two huge rents in the metal, but then their new friend stepped forward resolutely.

"Allow me," he suggested. He placed his hands on the door and focussed intently. After a few seconds, cracks began appearing in the wall around the doorframe and it was only a moment later that the door fell inwards with a crash.

"Merde, that's a good trick to know," Remy noted, impressed. As one who spent a great deal of time practising getting on the other side of locked doors, he had a great deal of professional respect for another similarly inclined.

"Oh yeah?" Logan sounded much less impressed. "How about I show you one of mine?"

He bellowed and ran through the doorway, and there was instant shouting and the sound of various powers being discharged. Remy and Julio looked at each other. They didn't even know each other's name but both were sure they knew precisely what the other was thinking.

"Holy shit," Julio muttered under his breath. It was a rather unorthodox war-cry but it seemed to serve him just fine as he followed after Logan. Remy shrugged and followed him in. It seemed the only thing to do.


	20. Chapter 20

**Cortex 20: Hot Pursuit**

James was beginning to wish he had followed Julio after all; at least that way they would know which way they were going, and more importantly where they were _supposed _to be going. So far they appeared to be going in circles- he was convinced he'd seen that strange scorch mark on the wall before. Even Monet's superhuman hearing and telepathy were not helping; she could hear the sound of fighting better than any of them but something about the layout of the corridors was throwing the acoustics out and making it hard to get her bearings. Suddenly the floor trembled and the walls shook ominously, and they all recognised the signature of Julio unleashing his powers. Monet finally had something to focus on and she sped off down the corridor, so fast the others had to run to keep up. They turned a corner just in time to see a shapely pair of legs vanish through a doorway, through which could be heard the sound of vicious combat. A big mutant with red eyes and long fangs staggered out into the corridor, right into Guido. The man staggered backwards, and his eyes had just enough time to widen in shock and fear before Guido sent him right back the way he had come with a massive punch.

"Nice punch," James congratulated him, offhand. "Well, I suppose we can't really let Monet have all the fun, can we? Come on..." He headed through the doorway, followed by Teresa. The door frame was slightly too small for Guido's muscular frame, but he simply walked right through, taking bits of wall with him. Monet was already thick in the fighting, punches bouncing off her flawless skin like pebbles off a battle tank. James could see a small, hairy shape similarly beleaguered but equally unstoppable, punching and kicking its way through a mob of mutant lowlifes. Guido noticed a mutant with purple flames around its fists taking aim at Monet's back.

"Oh no you don't!" he growled, placing himself right in the path of the fireballs as they shot through the air. They hit him right on the chest, but he simply absorbed the impact and stomped towards his attacker, who blanched in terror. A group of mutants advanced on James and Teresa, but were promptly blasted backwards by a sonic blast that left James' ears ringing. He shook his head to try and regain sense then sighed as he saw what appeared to be a man made out of blue, steel scales approaching.

"Oh, this can't be good," he moaned. He didn't know that his words would prove prophetic, but even as he spoke an old enemy was sneaking up on Monet with a vindictive grin on his face. Bevatron was seeking revenge for the defeat of a few weeks before, and as Monet was momentarily distracted, he saw his chance. He unleashed bolts of electricity that struck her in the back and spread over her body until it looked like a spider had crawled over her, spinning webs of lightning. She couldn't help crying out in pain and Bevatron laughed cruelly as he shot more and more electricity into her. He was so absorbed in his sadistic torment that he didn't notice the tall figure standing at his side until it spoke with a thick Cajun accent.

"That's no way to treat a pretty girl, homme."

"What? Who-?" The end of the sentence faded into an anguished squeal when Remy flicked the end of his staff between Bevatron's legs with deceptive force. Remy swung the staff backhanded and brought the other end into contact with Bevatron's skull, laying the callous mutant out unconscious. Remy made his way over to Monet, who was still suffering a lot of pain. Her normally sleek hair was frizzy and unkempt, and she was breathing very heavily. Remy took her hand and gallantly helped her upright.

"You okay?" He asked. Monet looked at her saviour and was treated to his most devastatingly charming grin, so winningly roguish even Monet felt a slight flutter in her chest.

"Why, thank you Mr...?"

"Cajun! You can flirt _after _we've dealt with these goons!" Logan bellowed across the room at Remy, who sighed.

"Some other time, chere," he promised Monet, kissing her hand. He then turned away and started swiping at a short but very strong-looking mutant holding a large club of some kind. With his smile gone, the spell he had woven started to fade and Monet soon began feeling much more like her usual self.

"That arrogant..." she seethed. "I am perfectly able to look after myself!" She took out her frustration on the nearest opponent, throwing him against the wall with enough force to break several bones. Remy soon found his way to where Logan was having difficulty dealing with a tentacle mutant who had wrapped his long appendages around Logan's wrists and was holding him in the air out of reach of those lethal claws. Remy ran towards the mutant, but to his surprise more tentacles appeared to sprout from the man's chest and snaked towards Remy with blinding speed. One wrapped itself around Remy's wrist as the Cajun tried to throw a charged card, but Remy simply smiled. His free hand grabbed the tentacle. There was no way he would be able to pry it off, but then again, he didn't need to. Although he couldn't charge organic material, there was nothing to stop him charging his fingerless glove and discharging it into the tentacle. The results were most gratifying; the mutant shrieked and all four tentacles withdrew, writhing and twisting. Logan was slicing away even as he fell and hacked off two of the serpentine limbs, which fell to the floor and faded into nothingness. A large mutant suddenly grabbed the back of Logan's shirt and tossed him through the air, leaving Remy to face off against the many-limbed mutant alone. Four new tentacles had grown to replace the missing ones, and were sent slithering through the air towards Remy.

"You want to dance?" Remy taunted his enemy, smirking, then batted away three tentacles and stamped on the fourth as it tried to grab his ankle. The mutant snarled again and withdrew its limbs, but it seemed to be gathering itself. As Remy started running towards it to close the distance, it roared at him and suddenly there were a dozen tentacles waving in the air, sprouting from the mutant's chest, shoulders and even his forehead. They moved with blinding speed towards Remy, who for the first time began to wonder if his cockiness hadn't been premature.

"_Merde,_" he commented drily, then had to focus all his attention on not being grabbed and killed by tentacles.

The Cortex Investigations Agents were doing a lot better. Monet was still fighting off on her own but the other three had managed to bunch together and were using their powers in concert. Guido was managing to bludgeon everything that came in reach while Teresa used her powers to cover his back from anyone trying to sneak up on them. James was using his powers to make one of the mutants attacking them start attacking other thugs instead and add to the confusion. They managed to fight their way over to where Monet was fighting off four mutants at once and as a quartet they had even greater success, and soon drew the main focus of the gangsters, leaving Remy and Logan to fight off stragglers and those on the edge of the main melee. Julio on the other hand was ignoring the fighting and running across the room towards a door on the far side. He knew that it lead to a flight of stairs that ended at the door of Negative's penthouse, and his main focus was on making sure the Chinese gangster didn't get away. Fortunately for him, it seemed his status as renegade had not spread far and many of the other hoods left him alone, believing him to be on their side. Even the blade-fingered man on the door looked more surprised than alarmed when he saw Julio steaming towards him, and had got as far as: "Hey, Ric, what're you do-" when he was propelled through the space recently vacated by the door.

Julio kicked the door open and stood in the doorway, fully prepared for a violent reception. He knew there was no way for Mr Negative out of the penthouse except through the door Julio himself was now occupying; the man was a gangster, not a supervillain- secret escape tunnels were the stuff of comic-books or Hollywood blockbusters. He knew that Negative would have been hoping for the mob downstairs to handle any attackers, but Julio was not stupid enough not to guess that there would no doubt be some nasty surprises waiting for anyone who got this far. He was surprised when he saw there was only one person facing him, but his heart sank when he realised who that person was: Quentin Quire. The psychic had both telepathic and telekinetic powers; bluffing the man wouldn't work but fighting him didn't really seem an option either.

"So, you are the traitor after all?" Quire asked scornfully. "You dumb shit! Did you really think that you could ever begin to fight us?"

"That was the general idea, yeah," Julio said. He knew his attempts at appearing casual and laidback were pretty much useless, even if the telepath didn't see through his act then he would surely sense the thoughts Julio was desperately trying to repress. However, Julio was like many other people in that when he got nervous he ended up running off at the mouth. While his thoughts were filled with impending pain, more specifically his own, part of his subconscious hijacked his mouth and filled it with lame jokes and defiance.

"You thought wrong," Quire said. He waved a hand and Julio was smashed into a wall, then swung it the other way and Julio found himself flying through the air again, crashing through a glass table. Luckily his coat prevented him suffering too much harm but his hands were cut in several places and there was a long line of blood running up his left cheek where a piece of glass had sliced into his face. He found himself hoisted into the air again and hurled against another wall, but instead of sliding down, he found a mysterious force holding him in place. Several of the larger glass fragments floated into the air and hovered before his eyes.

"I wish I could say I regretted this... but I really, really don't," Quire said.

"That makes me feel much better about you dying," Julio replied. However, there was a distinct lack of defiance in his voice; if anything, he sounded mocking. Before Quire could work out what was happening, there was a sound somewhere between a crunch and a squelch and three adamantium claws were suddenly protruding through his chest. He looked down in disbelief to see blood soaking his shirt and dripping around his feet, then the claws were withdrawn and he fell forwards, landing on his face with a wet thud. Logan was standing there but from the expression on his face, Julio was by no means out of danger just yet. Julio collapsed to the floor, shards of glass tinkling around him.

"Uh... thanks..." He said nervously.

"Thank me by telling me where the hell you were going in such a rush," Logan suggested. He had actually followed Julio on the suspicion that the Mexican was about to sell them out or tip off his boss that the game was well and truly up. The fact that the psychic had been about to kill Julio did not really serve as much as a character reference as far as Logan was concerned. Just because Julio wasn't on the same side as the psychic, that didn't mean he _was _on the same side as Logan.

"I told you, I'm after Negative," Julio said. "You want to scrap with all those goons down there, then fine- it's your call. Me? I'm going for the head of the snake."

Logan stared at him long and hard, and Julio did his best to meet the ferocious glower. He held out an impressively long time before looking aside, and besides, Logan still couldn't catch the scent of a lie. There was definitely something this guy was holding out on them, but everything he had said so far was true.

"Fine," Logan said, shoving past and making for the door. "Just don't get in my way."

"No way I'm spending any more time with you than necessary," Julio assured him. Logan kicked down the door to Negative's personal office and burst inside, Julio advancing a little more cautiously. Caution turned to apprehension when he heard the sound of gunfire from inside the room. Julio reached the doorway just in time to see a foot plant itself in Logan's chest and propel him back out of the door. Logan roared angrily and swung at whoever had kicked him, but there was the sound of another shot and a bullet caught him straight between the eyes. Normally he would have shaken it off but with the amount of fighting and number of wounds he had sustained fighting this far, his healing factor was already stretched, and from that kind of range the impact of the bullet was enough to momentarily knock him unconscious. Julio ducked back out of sight and looked down at the comatose body. He had not seen all that much of Logan in action but he knew that for the feral X-Man to be knocked down by a single bullet was nigh-on impossible... and he also knew there was one person who could make just such a shot with ease.

"No point hiding yourself, Mr Richter," the familiar cold voice of Mr Negative called out. "If Domino can take down the legendary Wolverine I'm pretty sure she can handle you."

Julio couldn't disagree with that verdict. He had guessed at Domino's presence the instant the shot had been fired, but hearing it confirmed by Negative still felt like a punch in the guts. He stepped out, hands held up in placation. Sure enough, Mr Negative was sitting behind the desk, staring at him coldly. Even as Julio watched, Domino sat on the edge of the desk, a pistol in her hand and one long leg swinging provocatively. His last hopes died as he saw the expression on her face- it was just as cold as her employer's and there was no sign of what they had shared.

"I should have known you were only playing me for a fool, shouldn't I?" Julio asked disgustedly. "I thought, I really thought that you and me, we were... but then I always was an idiot."

"Some things never change" Negative agreed. "But I think you may be doing the lovely Miss Thurman a disservice. When she first came up here, that gun was pointed at me- until I managed to... persuade her otherwise." He placed a proprietary hand on Domino's leg and even in his humiliation and apprehension Julio felt his guts crawl at the sight. Whoever Domino really served she was not some lifeless sack of meat for this odious little scumbag to paw lecherously like that. If Negative noticed Julio's distaste he showed no indication of it, and kept talking. "In fact, I have to admit to being rather impressed by the pair of you. It has been a long time since anyone managed to overcome my powers like that."

That confirmed one suspicion that Julio had been harbouring ever since he had suddenly recovered his real self- that Mr Negative had been the one to brainwash him, and presumably any others who did not join the Chinese gangster of their own free will. It also sounded as though Domino had managed to break through Negative's control as well, only to be recaptured and subsequently restored to his side. Unfortunately that didn't give him any idea how to get the alabaster woman to free herself a second time, nor did it bode well for his own chances.

"I know what you did to me," Julio warned him. "How you set me up like that and how you forced me to go along with your plans. I'm not the only one you did it to, am I?"

"Of course not," Mr Negative confirmed. "Although I rarely have to extend myself. Most people are only too glad to join me when they see what I can offer."

"Yeah, well, most people are dicks," Julio said.

"How cynical," Negative said, sounding amused. "Although not entirely inaccurate."

"So what's in it for you?" Julio asked. "This is where you tell me all about your evil schemes, right? Rub my face in my failure to stop you before killing me..."

"You've been watching too many films, Mr Richter," Mr Negative chided him. "Rest assured, this is merely a set-back in the grand scheme of events. You are of course absolutely correct- I have many plans in place once I escape from here... but I'm afraid I will have to withhold that information from you."

"Oh well... thank God for telepathy, right?" Julio said. Negative's inscrutable expression wavered slightly as he tried to work out the logic behind the apparent non-sequitur. Now it was Julio's turn to gloat over a successful plan. "I mean we don't even have to persuade you to talk when we can just rip it right out of your mind."

"You're not a telepath," Negative snapped, trying to call Julio's bluff.

"That's why I said 'we,'" Julio said grinning. Monet suddenly appeared at his side, glaring at the trapped gangster. She had picked up on Julio's telepathic calling even as she and the others finished off the last of the thugs downstairs. She had managed to link to Julio's mind, learning all the information he had found out as well as 'hearing' the whole conversation between him and Negative.

"That's actually pretty clever," Negative acknowledged reluctantly. "It will be a shame to see those hidden wits splattered across the wall."

Domino raised the gun and pointed at Julio, while Negative looked at Monet warningly.

"Not even you can move fast enough to stop her pulling the trigger, Ms St Croix," he pointed out. "You so much as twitch and Richter's a dead man."

"That's a really tempting proposition," Monet said coldly. "Would scratching my nose count as twitching? I have a really annoying itch."

"I mean it!"

"So do I," Monet said. "We've got the information we need about you, and Julio's done his bit. As far as I'm concerned you can shoot the backstabbing little cockroach and do the world a favour in the process."

"At least some things never change," Julio sighed. Domino brandished the pistol menacingly and he shut up quickly.

"You're bluffing," Negative said uncertainly.

"I'm really not," she corrected him.

"She's really, really not," Julio agreed with Monet. "Trust me on that one."

"In that case..." Negative didn't finish the sentence but powered up into his 'negative' form and ran towards Monet, while there was a loud gunshot as Domino fired at Julio from barely feet away. At that kind of range, the bullet shot right through him and out of the other side, and Domino had lowered the gun before pulling the trigger. Julio was not sure whether she had done it to be cruel or kind as instead of her bullet shattering skull it instead shredded the muscle and arteries of his right thigh. On the plus side, that left him alive; on the downside that looked to be a temporary condition at best and he was in agony as blood oozed from the wound. Monet had been just distracted enough by the shot for Negative to shoulder charge her and ram her into a wall, but instead of trying to finish her off for good he simply ran off with unnatural speed. Domino had already vanished from sight, leaving Monet alone with the injured Julio.

"I'll be fine, get after him," he urged. Monet looked down at him with a mixture of disdain and surprise.

"I was going to," she said scathingly. She sped out of sight and Julio found himself alone in an office, bleeding slowly to death and not mourned by anyone.

"Not the way I planned on signing out," he said out loud. He had never actually thought about how he intended to die, but it certainly hadn't been anything like this. Quite apart from anything else, there was a distinct lack of beautiful, recently-deflowered virgins. His leg gave a particularly painful throb and he felt tears spring into his eyes against his best efforts. "Ow."

Before long, the other remaining members of Cortex Investigations had quickly demolished the remaining members of Negative's private army. Those that were still conscious- and capable of movement- were running for their lives and soon Guido, Teresa and James found themselves sharing the room with only one other person: a tall, lean man in his late teens or early twenties wearing a long coat and brandishing a long staff.

"Either Monet's suddenly turned into a shapeshifter or you've got a lot of explaining to do," Guido commented. In the confusion and chaos of the fight, none of them had spotted Julio's exit or the pursuit by Monet. Remy had of course noticed Logan's sudden absence but had no idea why the Canadian had left or where he had gone. However, he wasn't cowed by the presence of the three mutant detectives, confident he could charm and smooth-talk his way out of his predicament, or at least buy some time for Logan to return.

"We're all on the same side here, mes amis," he assured them. "Why'd I be standing here instead of running if we weren't?"

"To try and bluff us?" Guido suggested. Teresa had found herself under the spell Remy managed to weave over any female in his presence, and although it wasn't enough to fully overcome her suspicions, she felt oddly convinced that it was a simple misunderstanding. James was simply standing and watching carefully, measuring up the stranger and the veracity of his story.

"So you're a SHIELD man?" he asked casually. The reaction to this question would go a long way to confirming James' thoughts about the situation, but instead of the expected surprise or recognition, the man in the trench-coat looked more curious than anything.

"Logan weren't kidding about old Fury then..." he mused to himself. He raised his voice slightly as he addressed the mutant investigators. "I'm no man 'cept my own, but oui, I have had dealings with SHIELD."

"Which tells us exactly nothing," Guido pointed out, annoyed by the noncommittal way Remy had dodged the question. 'Dealings' could mean almost anything, but to Guido's mind the man's reluctance to commit to an answer was clue enough that he was clearly up to something.

"The name's Remy LeBeau," Remy introduced himself. "Better known as Gambit-" he winked devilishly at Teresa and Val- "and if either of you want to know me even better..."

"You don't, trust me on that," a gruff voice interrupted the smooth patter and a short, hairy man with a scowl and metal claws growing from his hands walked up to them as though they were all old friends. His presence and unfriendly air were enough to have Guido squaring up again but the Cortex agents relaxed when Monet appeared at the newcomer's shoulder, her hair slightly tangled and her expression extremely annoyed.

"Where'd Li go?" she demanded. The others looked at her in confusion. None of them had seen Mr Negative during the whole fight and it seemed unlikely that he could evade all of them now the combat was over. She must have guessed the story from their expressions and rattled off an impressive list of French curses. "He must have some other exit," she growled. Remy took the opportunity to further introduce himself and his colleague.

"This is Logan," he began, "but you probably heard of him as-"

"Wolverine," Val breathed. Her voice was tinged with respect and a little fear. The Wolverine was a dark legend to many SHIELD operatives, who had often had their briefings extended by one of General Fury's stories about the times 'he, Cap and Wolverine had taken on this kind of thing and...'. Short of Fury himself or the near-mythical Captain America, Logan was the most respected and admired fighter in SHIELD's collective knowledge.

"SHIELD," Logan sighed in response. He recognised the response and besides, something about SHIELD always permeated the scent of its operatives and he knew them on sight, or rather on smell. He was not surprised that one of Fury's precious little toy soldiers had got herself tangled up in this mess but that didn't mean he liked it.

"Well I guess that makes us all friends," Remy suggested, and although no-one said anything the atmosphere did thaw slightly between the two groups. Admittedly, this left it only slightly above glacial but it was at least a start. Monet was in no mood for cordial introductions, she wanted action, she wanted revenge and she wanted Negative's head between her hands- and hanging around chatting was not going to achieve any of those objectives.

"If he didn't come through here then he must have found some other way," she growled in a voice that Remy could have sworn belonged to Logan save for the accent. She was already storming away from them, muttering under her breath and kicking any thugs foolish enough to stir or groan as she passed. The others looked after her; even the other detectives were surprised, as they had known of Monet's vengeful streak but not guessed how deep it was.

"Such a sweet, caring girl," Guido quipped half-heartedly. They all began to follow the enraged telepath, looking for signs of the escaped gangster. Logan started to sniff the air as they exited the room, and soon lead them down a corridor that looked much like any other to the eyes of his companions. He stopped at one stretch of wall that seemed indistinguishable from the rest and extended his claws.

"Oh, that can't be good." Guido always prided himself on being a quick learner, so it came as no real surprise when Logan started tearing at the wall with his claws, hacking and gouging huge rents in the concrete and muttering to himself about trapdoors and secret passages.

"Allow me," Guido suggested. He elbowed Logan aside and with two massive punches collapsed the door that had been hidden in the wall. He peered down the exposed corridor curiously. "Whoa. This is like something out of a James Bond film... except there's more than one of us, and no hot babes needing rescuing, and we're mutants. Other than that though, it's exactly the same."

"Practically identical," James agreed drily. "But with worse one-liners. But we can discuss Bond Girls after we finish with this clown." He lead the way and the others followed him, with the exception of Monet, who soared off ahead and out of sight.

_Negative's Office_

Julio had managed to create a tourniquet out of his belt and with it pulled tightly around his leg he could now walk around, although he had turned very pale and every step caused fresh beads of sweat to spring from his skin. Although the pain was beyond anything he had ever felt before, he supposed he should be grateful that he was still alive; in fact, that he could still use his leg at all was a blessing. He wondered at the odds of such a shot: debilitating enough to cause severe injury and prevent pursuit, but not deadly enough that quick thinking and prompt action could not come to the rescue. You had to be very good to make that kind of shot... or very lucky, and Domino was both. Unfortunately she was also very absent, leaving Julio alone with his thoughts and the white-hot lances of pain stabbing up at him from his leg. He spent a few minutes cursing the pain, in the absence of anyone to blame for it... except that wasn't true, was it? Someone had suggested he rescue the others, someone had predicted _exactly _what he should have- and now had- done. That same someone had made further predictions too- that he would rescue her in turn.

"Fuck that," he said aloud. "Last time I listened to you I ended up having my leg half blown off. I would have rescued the others anyway," he mentally added 'eventually' and managed to convince himself it was true in a general sense. It may have taken longer and he still didn't have a clue how he would achieve it, but he would... in the end. Unfortunately his mind refused to follow the party line and stubbornly kept bringing the face of Layla Miller to the forefront of his subconscious. It got to the stage when he could even recall the precise expression on her face when she had made her predictions: partly hopeful, partly accusatory but altogether certain. She had been convinced of what would happen and for some reason Julio could not bring himself to disappoint her.

"This is a really, really bad idea," he pointed out, though no-one would ever hear him. He hobbled out and down towards the stairs. He limped through the room full of stunned and injured thugs. He kept one eye open for his colleagues but as far as he could tell they had all made it out safely.

He made it to the room where Layla was being held, and was not surprised in the slightest to find that her face was at the window the instant he stepped around the corner, watching his every step. He limped up to the door and began examining it. Whatever had happened to the keys to this place, they weren't available to Julio.

"You know stuff, right?" he demanded. "So tell me where the key is, so I can let you out."

"What about your powers?" Layla asked, confused. Normally Julio would have enjoyed seeing her disconcerted but in this case her lack of pre-knowledge could cost them dearly.

"If I try channelling my powers my femur will snap like a straw," he said darkly. "If I'm lucky, anyway. It's something to do with feedback, I don't know how it works but believe me there is no way I'm using my powers on that right now."

"You'll find a way," Layla said with blithe confidence. Julio scowled at her preternatural confidence and self-assurance. Damn right he was going to find out how to get the annoying brat out of there- so he could throttle her himself. He examined the door again. He had been a decent enough lock-breaker even before his powers had manifested and made his training superfluous, but he could see that this was a door not designed to be broken in a hurry. Hinges, lock, frame, the material of the door itself; all of it was solid, sturdy and apparently damage-proof. He was about to kick the door in frustration when he remembered the condition his leg was in and decided against it. He swore in Spanish and punched a window in frustration. He was about to repeat the process when he was struck by sudden inspiration, looking from his raised fist to the window and back again. He hit the window again, more lightly and experimentally, then searched the corridor-full of prone bodies until he found what he was looking for. One of the less physically-orientated mutants had been carrying a gun, but due to the gulf in class between her and the attackers had not had time to draw it in combat. Julio had no such problems, and as the son of an arms dealer he was perfectly comfortable around firearms.

"Smith and Wesson model five fifty, fires point five hundred S.W magnum," he assessed the gun, a bulky revolver. "You know, if you were a guy I'd make a crack about overcompensating." It was one of the most powerful handguns in the world, if a little impractical. Semi-automatics were more common, and more useful, but this was more than up to the task he needed it for. He checked it was loaded, finding it suitably stocked up, then aimed and fired at the window. He felt the recoil shoot up his arm and a corresponding surge of pain in his leg and dropped it, swearing in Spanish. The huge bellow of the gun very nearly drowned out the panicked squeak from Layla, but Julio could not help smirking as he overheard the noise. He approached the window and was impressed to see it had withstood the shot, although a crack had spider-webbed outwards from the point of impact. As he approached, Layla popped up again and glared at him reproachfully.

"You could have warned me you were going to shoot a gun," she pouted. "If the window had broken I could have been hurt by the glass."

"Oh, you mean you _didn't _know what I was going to do?" Julio taunted her. Layla crossed her arms and stamped a petulant foot. She very rarely saw specific details in her visions of the future, seeing the outcomes and not the causes. She suspected Julio didn't care about that much though. The Mexican mutant put a hand on the cracked window and sent a surge of power through his arm. It was a very small pulse and not enough to seriously hurt his leg, though he still felt it throb angrily at the use of power. The window shattered and shivered into fragments of glass and Layla reached out with an arm, expecting her reluctant saviour to haul her out. Julio just snorted and crossed his arms.

"I've done my part, you can get yourself out now."

Layla managed to scramble out and looked up at Julio expectantly. She knew that somehow he would get her out, but the specific details were a mystery; the exact moves were still up to him. Julio paid no attention though, instead staring at a wall with a worried expression on his face. He had briefly sensed a surge of concern from a powerful telepathic source, and was sure that Monet had been the one responsible. As far as he was concerned, anything that could worry the self-assured Monet was something to be worried about, but if he had to wait for Layla it would slow him down considerably. There was only one solution.

"Hey!" Layla protested as she found herself slung over Julio's shoulder brusquely. The Mexican ignored her complaint and limped through the corridors, unconcerned by the effect of his bouncing stride on his unwilling passenger. Layla knew that she had no chance of escape on her own, but that didn't mean she had to enjoy it. She complained to Julio's shoulder-blades, the only bit of him she could see. "I really don't think I'm going to like you."

Even in his concern and determination, Julio couldn't help a small, ironic smirk. "I know."


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's note: And now, the end is near, and so we face the final curtain... the last chapter is up for your (I hope) pleasure.**

**Cortex 21: The Case Concludes**

Things were not going so well for the would-be captors of Mr Negative. It turned out that what had looked like a secret escape route had in fact turned out to be merely one of several interconnecting passages, indicating someone had put a lot of thought into the architecture of this place. Unfortunately that didn't make their job any easier and although Logan could easily smell their target's trail it took more time to navigate the labyrinth than any of them would have liked. Guido sensed they were getting close though when he heard a familiar voice shouting triumphantly and a meaty thwack as something fleshy was punched very hard.

"Monet's up ahead!" He called elated, and the group accelerated, cheered by the good news. Unfortunately for them, and even worse for Monet, Negative also heard the victorious cry and redoubled his efforts, knowing he had to finish Monet quickly before the others caught up. He managed to dodge a punch and launched one of his own, catching Monet in the stomach. She coughed and staggered backwards, leaving herself open to a haymaker from Negative, who put channelled all his aggression and determination into the blow. In her dazed state, Monet was smashed off her feet and onto the floor. Negative grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the wall so hard the wall cracked around her. Her powers protected Monet somewhat from physical impact but could do nothing about her breath being choked off and as she gagged Negative punched her repeatedly, a vicious glower on his face. He let go and she slid to the floor, where Negative grabbed one leg and used it to swing her into a wall before hurling her like a human javelin down the corridor. The others arrived just in time to see Negative disappear around a corner and something somehow hard and soft at the same time hit Guido in the chest. He suffered no physical damage from the attack but his heart sank as he recognised the projectile: Monet, looking as beaten up and battered as he had ever seen her. They rounded the corner to see Negative looking triumphant. His suit was torn and ragged and his hair a wild tangle but there was no doubt about who had come off better in his little tussle with Monet.

"He's going down," Logan growled, brandishing his claws and advancing on the Chinese gangster.

"Race ya," Guido countered, starting forwards too and with his longer legs quickly overtaking the short Canadian. Both of them stopped in their tracks though when Negative suddenly pulled something small and black from a coat pocket.

"Step any closer and the whole place goes up," he warned them.

"Not much of a threat when facing us _outside _the building," Guido pointed out, but didn't make any move towards the criminal. He doubted someone smart and resourceful enough to make it to the top rung of the criminal underworld would rely on something as improbable and unreliable as remote explosives.

"Think of all the destruction it could cause to the surrounding buildings," Negative pointed out. "And all the people still inside... you want their deaths on your conscience?"

It was a stalemate, and they all knew it. Negative began backing away holding the remote protectively close, and although Remy produced and charged a deck of cards he had no way of knowing whether he could do enough damage in time to stop the Chinese gangster blowing up the building. Remy spat disgustedly. "What kind of person puts explosives in their own damn building?"

"Oh, it wasn't me," Negative said. "People I'm working for like their fail-safes to be definitive. They don't even know I knew about their little bombs, but they don't shut me up that easily..."

"Who are 'they'?" Logan demanded. He didn't expect an answer but the gangster was visibly unravelling and breaking down before their eyes, it was worth taking the chance that he would be unstable enough to let something slip. Besides, the fact that someone who had had he, Remy and a SHIELD-sponsored investigative agency all running in circles now answered to someone even _more _powerful and shadowy was not good news by anyone's standards.

"They are way out of your league, Wolverine," Negative sneered. "They're beyond any of you, SHIELD, X-Men, all of you are little children fighting giants."

"We're children with a pet dog," a voice suddenly said behind him. Something furry and muscular growled as it bowled into Negative, who dropped the remote as he tried to keep slavering jaws from closing on his neck.

"That was so lame," the same voice said, but apparently from a different direction. The Cortex team looked at each other in surprise, but Logan sniffed the air and scowled menacingly.

"What the hell?" He asked. Negative managed to dislodge his assailant, which as far as he could tell was some kind of massive wolf creature, but as he staggered upright he was tackled back off his feet. He grabbed his latest attacker, a kid who could not be much older than fifteen and laughed, sounding more than a little deranged. This was the secret agent sent by SHIELD? He would soon make them pay for their insufferable arrogance, starting with the death of this little toy. He threw the boy into a wall, but his injuries and exhaustion robbed his muscles of their strength and it was not the fatal attack he had expected. Even more surprisingly, when the boy hit the wall an identical clone suddenly popped into view, then both of them ran towards the aghast Negative. A third, seemingly identical to both of his attackers, appeared from the entrance of the alley and ran to where the wolf-creature was lying, wheezing painfully. No matter how many of the little irritants Negative managed to brush off, more and more appeared until he finally managed to swing his arm in a huge arc and throw every single one of them flying. He didn't have any time to enjoy the small success though; three adamantium claws suddenly pricked the soft flesh under his chin and a huge hand grabbed his head from behind, holding him in place.

"I'd stay real still if I was you, bub," Logan warned him. He could see the fallen Jamie-dupes starting to get back up and merge together in the background. "What're you and Rahne doing here, squirt?" he demanded.

"They're with me," a new voice broke in. "Or at least they were supposed to be, before they ran off on their own..." Colonel Nicholas Fury strolled into view as if apprehending insane, explosive-wielding gangsters was the most normal occurrence in the world. In his line of work of course it really wasn't anything surprising. His customary cigar jabbed in his teeth, he looked around curiously. "All of you still alive, huh? You've done better than I thought."

"What are you doing here?" Logan asked the question on behalf of everyone present.

"Cooper here dropped us a line when Maddox didn't show on time," he explained. "We went by the Cortex place but the only ones we could find were your little students here. Luckily Ms Sinclair managed to follow your trail here." A SHIELD agent wearing shades and with an army-style cap pulled low over her eyes hovered in the background, apparently watching her leader's back. Something about her made James uneasy, and in fact even some minor detail of Fury's explanation didn't sit right with him. He was no master detective, but he was more than good enough to work it out almost instantly. "Who did you say tipped you off?"

"Cooper," Fury replied. "Your liaison... if you'd bothered to actually liaise with us as agreed."

"As in Val Cooper?" James pressed. Fury nodded, but he seemed slightly unnerved himself. Either something was niggling at him too or something about James' intense tone was making him uneasy. James pressed on. "That would be _this _Val Cooper, then. The one Li abducted a month ago." He stepped aside to show Fury the thin, malnourished form of his employee and operative. Fury's one eye widened in shock as behind him the female agent sprang into life. She moved so quickly her hat flew off and the shades shattered on the floor. The agent looked identical to the Val Cooper who had just been rescued, albeit better fed and in good shape. Fury spun in shock only to have a fist smash into his jaw and spin his head back the other way. The New Cooper pulled a pistol from its holster and fired three quick shots. One caught Logan in the shoulder and sent him stumbling backwards, the other two hit Negative- one in the chest and one in the forehead. The mutant crime-lord's cranium blew apart in a cloud of bone fragments and blood. Guido dropped the body in shock and even as Logan recovered and started to chase the fake Cooper, she ran to the entrance of the alley and vanished out of sight. He looked around but could not see her anywhere amongst the people milling in the street. In fact he couldn't hear her either, or even pick up a trace of her scent. She had to all intents and purposes simply vanished into the ether without any clues left behind. Logan growled in fury but turned and stomped back into the alleyway. He arrived just in time to see a tall, dark young man appear out of the concealed exit of the corridor carrying a limp blonde girl over one shoulder. The blonde girl did not appear impressed by her treatment, but when she was put down she simply stood in place, apparently awaiting new developments.

"The gang's all here then," Julio observed. Fury had quickly got over his surprise, or at least put it aside in order to deal with the situation better. Jamie had absorbed all his dupes and was holding the hand of Rahne, back in her human form and seemingly recovered from the beating given by Negative. Monet too was back on her feet and glowering at the world for the indignity she had suffered. Logan was scowling at the two young X-Men-in-training.

"What are you doing here?" he grunted.

"We were just trying to find James," Jamie said. "We wanted to find out what was going on."

"And be glad they did," Fury put in. "Without them Negative might have got away."

"What did you want with Maddox?" Logan said, ignoring Fury's placatory tone. Rahne took over the explanations.

"When we were trying to find out about these Cortex people, we ended up finding information about him, and a picture, and it's just... he just looks so much like Jamie, we wanted to know why."

Logan looked at James, then Jamie, then back again and grunted. He had to admit, the resemblance was uncanny, even to his enhanced senses. That didn't mean he would let them get away with blatant breaking of the rules of Xavier's Institute but at least they had a reason, even if it was kind of lame. James for his part seemed to bear no ill will, advancing on Jamie and holding out a hand.

"Well, I appreciate your help anyway," he said warmly. Jamie looked surprised to be treated so respectfully by an adult, but pleasantly so. He reached out in turn and the two shook hands. Suddenly James cried out in agony and a split second later Jamie shrieked too and both of them began to convulse and twitch, still howling in pain. There was a flash of light; it was similar to the flash when Jamie absorbed a dupe but on a much larger scale, a lighthouse compared to a firefly. When the light faded there was only one man still standing, and then only for a moment before he choked painfully and keeled over. Rahne knelt at his side, looking panicked and the others closed in around them. Lying there was a figure somewhere between Jamie and James in age, and with the exact appearance either of the pair would have at that age. Fury pulled out his cigar and contemplated the prone body.

"Well, shit."

It was agreed that the best place to treat the casualty would be the Xavier Institute. It was in fact Logan that made the agreement on behalf of everyone else, but Fury seemed to agree and that was good enough for the Cortex operatives. James/Jamie had been rushed to the infirmary where Xavier and Hank had immediately begun treatment, Hank dealing with the physical effects while Xavier used his powers to try and discern what exactly had happened. The bald telepath rolled backwards, looking slightly drained. Whatever had happened to the pair- or was that now person?- it had clearly been something extremely unusual.

"What's the matter with him?" Logan said with typical bluntness. All of James' team-mates had gathered in the infirmary, as had Fury and Rahne. Layla had also somehow managed to inveigle her way in and was wandering around the medical facilities curiously, examining the strange devices and machines. Xavier sighed.

"As far as I can tell, Jamie has undergone some kind of, well, identity crisis for lack of a better word," he explained. "When the two bodies merged, so did their minds, but no human brain should be capable of that. Just as the two bodies have somehow come together and combined, when Jamie recovers it is likely that his new mind will be somewhere between the two as well."

"So it's Jamie there?" Teresa asked. "Not James?"

"Not necessarily," Xavier conceded. "I refer to Jamie as I knew him as Jamie- as to which of them will be the dominant psyche I don't know, or even if one will emerge as in control at all. It's quite possible that what will result is a new personality entirely."

"But how is it even possible for them to have merged anyway?" Logan asked. "Far as we know, the squirt can only absorb his own dupes, and this guy was older than he was, no way was he a dupe."

"I don't know," Hank took over. "But it seems that Jamie and, uh, James were even more closely matched genetically than appearances suggested. They were so close that Jamie must have subconsciously tried to reabsorb him, or it might even have happened without him knowing or trying."

"But he _will _be okay won't he?" Rahne asked anxiously. The two scientists looked at each other.

"I can't honestly say," Xavier admitted. "This is not like a telepath linking to another mind, the two have literally become one. I've never seen anything quite like it. But his mind is functional- it just appears to be in some kind of coma. There's no reason why it shouldn't stabilise."

"It's a similar situation physically," Hank concurred. "Two different bodies, with two different genetic structures combining, it's one of the most powerful and dangerous reactions I can think of, I doubt that if they weren't so similar to begin with he would be dead already. As it is, I can only think that the body is now repairing itself and getting used to the new situation. Like Charles said, there is no reason why he _shouldn't _recover completely... I just don't know when it will happen."

"But what's going to happen to us?" Teresa asked. "To Cortex Investigations I mean? If... whoever that is... wakes up and it's not..." she sniffled but made a valiant effort to keep her composure. "If it's not James, then what do we do?"

Maybe it was her superhuman senses, maybe it was good old-fashioned feminine instinct, but something about Teresa's tone of voice struck home in Rahne and she understood in ways she could not name that this girl was in almost the same situation as Rahne herself. She had been very close, maybe even loved, one of the two people who had so bizarrely been taken away from them. For all either of them knew, one or both of those boys was now dead as surely as if taken by a bullet or a knife. For a brief second the two girl's eyes met and they shared their symbiotic sorrow and understanding.

"Far as I'm concerned, you still work for me," Fury said brusquely. He was about to light up another of his cigars when he found his hand throw it over his shoulder; he stared at it in confusion but it refused to move. He found Xavier looking at him intently, the normally kind eyes now warning.

'_Don't push your luck, Colonel,_' the professor said telepathically. Out loud though he simply said, "I think that this shows the benefits to both groups if we could join forces on occasion, or share resources. My wish is of course for humans and mutants to work together but mutants working with other mutants is of course equally desirable."

"I agree," Fury said. "But if this is going to be a new start, can I suggest a new name as well? Start this whole thing from scratch."

"What about... X-Factor?" Guido suggested. "Cause we've got the magic touch, sort of va-va-voom, you know... also the X sorta helps with the whole working together thing."

"I'm not working for any team whose manifesto includes the words 'va-va-voom'," Monet said bluntly. "But I suppose as names go it's not too bad."

"Sounds fine to me," Teresa agreed.

"Whatever," Julio just shrugged. He didn't much care what the others called themselves now; he fully intended to find Domino and if that meant leaving the team that would not bother him in the slightest. His surliness did not faze anyone; in fact it was practically expected by now. Fury seemed satisfied at any rate.

"The other question is what to do with Layla Miller," he broached what he suspected would be an awkward subject. He was not surprised, although he was taken aback by just who was the first to react strongly.

"The petite can stay here with me," Remy said. "I mean us. I said I'd look out for her and this Cajun is a man of his word."

"We rescued her, we should probably be the ones who look out for her," Teresa disagreed. Monet just sniffed.

"I think we should just throw her back into the orphanage and let her look out for herself," the beautiful telepath said dismissively. Xavier stepped in to conclude matters.

"This Institute was built to help mutants who need it," he said. "It is probably the best place for her, at least until she's older."

"I agree with the Professor," Fury interjected. "Besides, if you're all going to be working together anyway I'm sure you'll see her soon enough."

"Fine," Monet butted in before her team-mates could argue the point.

"We'll meet again, lots of times," Layla told a complicated-looking device of some kind. They realised that the comment was actually addressed to them. Fury was amused by the confidence in the young girl's voice.

"You seem pretty sure," he observed. Layla simply smiled.

"I'm Layla Miller," she said. "I know stuff."

Xavier was glad the situation had calmed itself down and his innate diplomatic skills rose to the occasion. "If we are to agree to some of the finer details, can I suggest we do it elsewhere? I'm sure Dr McCoy would find it easier if he was alone with Jamie."

The others couldn't argue with that point and traipsed out. Rahne hesitated at the doorway.

"I don't think I will be able to do much," she said nervously. "I think I will... I mean... I should... probably stay here instead."

Xavier smiled at her gently. "I quite understand," he assured. "I'm sure your presence here would be of great comfort." He left the statement deliberately vague and wheeled after the others. Rahne made her way over to where Jamie was lying on a bed unmoving. She pulled up a chair and sat beside Jamie's bed, taking one cold hand in her own. Hank suddenly found some very pressing matters to attend to elsewhere and hurried into his little office area. Rahne did not appreciate his gesture, but only because she did not notice as she was gazing sorrowfully at the boy who had so suddenly touched her in ways she could not understand... and now she might not ever comprehend.

"Come back to me soon," she whispered. "Please, come back to me."

_Elsewhere, Bayville_

Agent Valerie Cooper made her way through the streets of Bayville, walking casually and apparently unworried, making sure no-one's suspicions would be raised by her suspicious behaviour. As she approached a hotel, she ducked out of sight into a dark alley. The woman who emerged in her place could not be further from the sleek, professional-looking agent; this woman was timid and shabby-looking. Mallory Brickman made her way into the hotel and approached the desk. The receptionist raised an impeccable eyebrow at her dishevelled appearance but as long as she paid the money, she was as entitled to stay there as anyone. Brickman picked up the keys and made her way to the elevator.

Moments later, she sat in a near-empty room, deprived of all but the most basic comforts. She sat on the plain bed with a sleek, high-tech phone pressed to one ear. As she waited for the connection, her mousy brown hair shortened and a red tinge spread from her scalp. Her skin similarly changed colour, becoming a dark blue. Her face rearranged itself too, cheekbones and jaw restructuring as her eyes changed from a warm brown to yellow, leonine slits. Within seconds, Mallory Brickman had vanished and in her place sat Raven Darkholme, known and feared as one of the world's best assassins and spies under her codename of Mystique. The phone was answered by a gravelly, clearly distorted voice.

"What news, Blue Knight?" it demanded.

"Martin Li is dead," Mystique said. "His organisation is even now being restructured and reassigned to more reliable and trustworthy allies."

"And the girl Miller?"

"Unfortunately my cover was blown before she could be retrieved, Black King," Mystique admitted. "But her rescuers are on the verge of breaking. Richter is still a wanted fugitive and mistrusted by the others, Maddox is believed dead and the Cassidy girl too distraught by his death to be of any threat."

"Your main target was Miller, Blue Knight," the distorted voice said reproachfully. "Only your success with the secondary aims will stay my hand this time."

"Rest assured her retrieval is still available," Mystique insisted. "I know of her current location, the Xavier Institute. With sufficient planning I can still get her back from there."

"And sufficient funding, no doubt," the Black King said with dark humour. Mystique very sensibly said nothing to that. Her employers had more money than any other organisation on the planet, including governments, but their patience was not as endless. She had proven her worth repeatedly and did not particularly fear their reprisal but took the warning as intended.

"She will be retrieved, Black King," Mystique reiterated.

"Of course she will," the voice said. "No-one can resist the Hellfire Club."

**A/N: And that just about wraps things up. Well not entirely of course but I can't resist the odd sequel hook or two. James/Jamie will be explained and more about Hellfire and it's nefarious schemes will come to light eventually. On which note I know there are black or white circles, but not a blue one, but Mystique **_**is **_**blue, so artistic license wins out. I hope everyone enjoyed reading, if you did let me know please, if you didn't you can go and- erm, let me know. I'm always open to constructive criticism... **_**Exit Author, pursued by bear.**_


End file.
